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New Dominion (Warcraft)

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War of the Dead Part 6 (The Battle of Crystal Song)
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    • War of the Dead Part 6 (The Battle of Crystal Song)​

    It was the largest march of soldiers seen within the living memory of Zul'Drak.

    Fifty legions, twenty-five thousand soldiers marching down the five-mile-long Western staircase and into Crystalsong Forest. A roaring storm roiling above their heads, thundering in time to every drum beat and lockstep.

    The Frost King himself marched at the head of this mighty host, flanked as ever by his loyal bodyguards, and commanding the First Legion of Gundrak.

    Counted among their number were elite forces, trained in the capital itself, be they the Gundrak's Elite Bat Riders, Fire Eaters and Frost Wardens. The ground quaked beneath the strides of hulking Earthshakers and the Raiders atop their armored rhino and mammoth. Priests and prophets rode upon raptor-back, their radiant presence inspiring their kin.

    But the even the regular Drakkari Legions were not to be underestimated; counting mighty shaman, fierce Fire Weavers and skilled Water Binders; along side the canny Snake Handlers and wise Oracles. Each one ready to fight alongside their warriors, be they fierce Invaders or skillful Lancers, all pushed along by the rallying cries of Inciters.

    Stone jawed Chieftain held the rigid legions together while armored Commanders prepared to lead their war parties into battles alongside the newly minted Frozen Warlords, all adorned in black, Saronite armor.

    Not a soul approached or even dared try and interrupt them in their march across the vast singing planes. Crystal Dryads and Satyr scurried into their dens to watch with wide eyes while ghosts howled and shrieked, driven into the depths of their ruins by the barriers and wards radiating from the legions.

    They marched for days, across vast planes of golden grass, clinging to unnatural life by the lingering magics until they came upon the sight of the last camp. Already the lingering presence of death magic and toxins had faded, absorbed, purified, and repurposed by the lands.

    A good omen, Malakk thought.

    Night fell and their camp was raised, hulking tents and armored yurts arrayed in defensive patterns, with communal fires of magic and glowing totems embedded across the earth to strengthen it that even a Spider-Lord might struggle to burst free.

    Malakk had little interest for reclining in in his tent, taking to the front of his vanguard, where lines of soldiers bearing hulking shields and long spears stood surrounding their resting kindred, eyes glowing as they stared into the night, alongside rumbling mammoth and rhino, all under the watchful eyes of priests and shaman alike.

    Distant, discordant winds wafted across his senses and mist coiled along the ground, repelled by their wards but swelling against the barrier all the same, as if trying to climb over the magical protections.

    "An ill wind blows, Frost King," Drakuru murmured at his back, "This is just how it was before- they come!"

    Malakk did not falter as he watched shambling corpses break through the mist, dragging weapons behind them as broken moans filled the air.

    From well around their ranks, Nerubians bound in bandages and quivering violently burst from the ground, encircling the legions all the way around or so he assumed.

    Finally, at the back of the growing throng of undead, stood one of the winged monsters described in the first report.

    As suspected, it was no gargoyle, tinged green, with bronze armor sewn into pale skin, the creature's voice echoed gently, "You came here seeking vengeance, but will find only the cold embrace of death and despair."

    "As far as threats go, I've heard better," Malakk said, loudly enough that his soldiers heard and could share a laugh.

    Glancing back at Drakuru he added, "If this is the bests strategy your master can come up with, no wonder he relies on undead rather than thinking soldiers."

    Drakuru's gaze grew sharp and wild, in a quick motion he made to run, snow scraping beneath his feet, his body leaving the ground in a blur-

    Only to be blocked by Bith'sa's runic stone shield and left gagging ad Kutube'sa's sword ran him through the chest. Only pained gagging escaping his maw as the dead's advance stilled, surprise evidence on the demons face even at a distance.

    "Did you really think yourself so cunning?" Malakk snarled. "Did you really think only you survived? Zim'bo! Come claim your justice!"

    A nearby Frozen Warlord removed his Saronite mask and in one fell motion drew his spike club and swung. Drakuru's feeble struggling doing nothing to save him as his skull was scattered like an exploding snowball across the ground.

    "I thank you, Frost King Malakk, but the dead-"

    "Worry not about the dead," Malakk intoned, one hand raised high, "Barriers up, shields ready and brace!" His legions obeyed instantly as the dead began to charge. "Now prepare for a show!" He cheered as shrieking roars and whooping cheers fell from the sky as hundreds of dark dots broke through the clouds.

    The dead's charge stilled, the demons bellowing new orders, magic bursting from his clawed hands he tried to re-organize his ranks as explosive jars began raining from the sky, crashing down upon the scurrying deadin holy fire.

    Malakk's voice was high, near shrill as he cackled, "You didn't think I lured you out here just to watch an execution, did you?! I'm not so tasteless, you all get to join in the fun!"

    A wicked smile spread across his lips as Quetz'Lith roared, "Dragoons, reduce the undead to ash!" The dragon were finally close enough and from their mighty maws came blistering shellfire that washed over the dead.

    "Legions of Zul'Drak, the enemy is scattered, their leadership weak and their lines frayed. Take them!" With that he and his Gundrak elites surged from the lines and towards the greatest host and its demonic leader.

    The battle of Crystalsong Forest was joined.

    And it would soon be over.

    Amongst Dread-Guards sent to keep the Lich King in line, Mal'Ganis knew he was deemed the youngest and weakest.

    But born from that lack of raw power and connections to the upper ring came experience in roles often seen as ill-suited for Dreadlord. Experience that left him a seasoned commander, more-so than several of his seniors; having fought and led on the frontlines. But it was not he who had concocted the strategy but Ner'zhul and now he couldn't help but feel that he had been duped rather cunningly.

    He saw the army that should have been sabotaged, confused and enraged, instead surging outwards to slaughter his slaves as fire poured down from the skies and knew it was time for a tactical retreat.

    'Not enough air support, too far out from reinforcements, Drakuru you fool, your arrogance has bungled this battle!'

    With a last mental command for his slaves to swarm the king and an idle hope the troll would die, Mal'ganis launched himself into the sky, intent on cutting down a few of the trolls stunted dragons before escaping.

    Then the sky spewed out a bolt of burning lightning that ripped a hole in his unsuspecting wings. A mad cackle roared up from behind him on howling winds and he tried to weave out from the oncoming tornado only for the Sky Riders leader to let loose a burst of fire that catapulted him into the vortex!

    The sharpened air was biting cold, icicles and wind cutting and slashing across skin and armor with equal ferocity. He swirled in a dizzying spiral, where he did not know, and he cared not to find out. Folding his wings and baring his claws, Fel magic burst from his hands, 'Paltry pain from paltry creatures, I am a Nathrezim!'

    Shadows surrounded him and Mal'ganis tore his way free of the tornado and saw his foe, the grinning visage of the Frost King who jeered, "What sort of leader leaves their troops? Come and face the Conqueror of Storms, coward!"

    Drawing a radiating blade of magics, the barbarian charged him.

    Mal'ganis snarled as the Frost King's guards weave around one another raising walls of ice and fire to keep the dead off their liege.

    'I will deal with this myself!' He decreed, letting loose a wave if shrieking bloodsuckers carved from living shadow and death.

    "Iiqaath-Alar!" The troll bellowed, bringing his sword up to guard and bursting forth from the jewel in the center and spilling from the maws of the snakes adorning it was a Void-Shield that the bats swarmed around like water over a rock.

    'No!'

    Mal'ganis surged back but his retreat was cut off by a lobbed explosive from the king's right hand. He skidded to the side, kicking up snow and made to leap into the air when a meaty hand grasped his gauntlets.

    In a flash the squared off blade locked around his throat, burning at his essence and-

    "N-"

    With a slash the world became a burning array of pain.

    Then nothingness.

    The battle ended almost as swiftly as it began.

    Shamans and Priests contained anything they thought resembled the cursed sickness with barriers and magic before it was frozen or obliterated with fire.

    Soldiers had their wounds tended to and made ready to be sent to a quarantine center outside Zul'Drak while the Dragoons soared overhead, on the hunt for any leftovers.

    Malakk and his Chief advisors looked over the scratchy scroll listing out the number of wounded and what legions.

    "The Southern Wing took a heavy toll, thanks to ambushers," one intoned.

    Malakk nodded, "Have the Third, Seventh and Nineteenth Legions sent home with their kin and any other wounded." He clicked his tongue, "Then have the twenty second and... twelfth Legions provide additional escorts."

    Moorabi gave him a look before locking the scroll to his hip with a clip, "Frost King Malakk, is that wise? We would lose so many legionaries?"

    "They'd do us no good if they keeled over and died or turned against us," He said casually, half turning away to look across the singing planes. "Besides, I am thinking we can get reinforcements soon, but it will depend on what comes next."

    "Next? Are we to await another attack?" Moorabi asked, eyeing him with his brow furrowed in confusion.

    "Not quite, I am waiting for a," He stopped as Quetz'Lith came to hover above them, the beating of her red dragons' winds echoing across the planes and still drawing pleasing awe from the troops.

    "Frost King Malakk, a Nerubian and Drakkari approach us!"

    "Let them come, they are expected!" He answered back and with that she saluted and soared into the air.

    "Another one of your surprised I take it?" Moorabi asked, his tone that of bitter humor.

    Malakk smirked and clapped his friend on the shoulder as the duo came into view, "I like pleasant surprises, and I can hardly be expected to share everything with an enemy such as this flittering about."

    Moorabi scoffed good humoredly, but his gaze was locked unhappily upon the skittering Nerubian_vizier even as Malakk waved them down and the towering spider offered a brief little curtsy.

    "Greetings, Bonechiller_Barafu, how have your hosts been treating you?" He said casually.

    The lean magus bowed, braids swinging before saying, "I have learnt much and though the conditions are… alienating, we are making do."

    "Typical for warfare I suppose and as to you Vizier, I was told to expect the Spider King," He added, turning his gaze squarely upon the arachnid.

    Their many green eyes blinked two at a time and out of order as it spoke, "You will meet Anu'Barak momentarily- grk, urk!" Their body twitched and spasmed, head snapping to the sky, back arching as they convulsed and choked before stilling in an instant and a new voice echoed from the Nerubian.

    "Greetings… Frost King Malakk, alive I see," Anu'Barak spoke.

    Malakk chuckled, "A fine morning to you as well, Spider King Anu'Barak, what a pleasure it is to meet you here in... Someone else's Carapace?"

    "Impertinent as expected," They muttered before stiffening, "You won your battle and we are holding Azjul'Nerub, but if we do not move now, we may lose everything."

    "You think them so quick?" Malakk asked, waving towards the cleansed battlefield.

    "Efficient," He rasped. "They process losses quickly and rally faster. They will not be taken by surprise again. We must strike now, with overwhelming force," The Vizier's chest swelling violently as it breathed for lungs too large for its body.

    "This could prove disastrous," Moorabi hissed, hand gently grasping Malakk's arm.

    "Anu'Barak, I ask this as one king to another, is this wise?" His gaze caught between Barafu and the Nerubian.

    The Vizier's body leaned forward as Anu'Barak hissed, "Attrition does not favor us, the longer this war goes on the stronger they become…. We will open the way for you… But this will be our last stand… I say this, as one king trying to save his subjects to another. Strike. Now."

    A king was only as good as their word, and whatever else one might say of Anu'Barak, he was a good king.

    "We will leave in an hour, see you on the battlefield, Spider King."

    "You as well, Frost King," He answered, before faded from his subject's presence with a faint choking noise from the vessel who shook their heads and blinked dazedly, before asking. "The deal is struck?"

    "More or less," Malakk clapped Moorabi on the shoulder, "If you don't trust me you can join the troops on the march home."

    Moorabi hissed, "Run away? Never! I shall crush a thousand of these Scourge beneath my feet, I swear it!"

    "That's what I like to hear! Barafu and Vizier…"

    "Nadox," it answered.

    "Join us on the march, and we shall strike with the force of an avalanche and lay waste to our foes!"

    "As you wish Frost King Malakk," his followers answered.

    "That was always my plan, Troll King," The Vizier rattled off.

    "Glad to hear it!" he cheered, before turning and marching back to camp, itinerary, reinforcement timelines and battleplans swirling in his mind.

    Across the vast mountains and frozen planes of Northrend and beneath the earth, Anu'Barak conferred with queens and Viziers.

    "Can a troll really be trusted?"

    "He is a fool; we cannot risk it!"

    "They will betray us or fail!"

    The sole troll in the chamber spoke up, Arctikus slamming her Saronite-Touched Spear to the stone carved floor and drawing a glower from so many eyes as she snapped, "The Frost King has never broken his word with us whose ancestors abandoned his empire. If he says he will aid you, he will."

    Anu'Barak's deep, rumbling baritone filled the chamber and echoed across his subject's minds, "This is in his own best interest, the Drakkari will arrive, and they will fight, I can see it."

    "Now all we must do is win," he added.

    Cutting her hand and watching as the Saronite drank greedily in her blood, thrumming with power, Arctikus answered with total confidence.

    "We will."
    ________________________
    NOTES:
    I had to rewrite another Word Priest spell, the original one Malakk used was Lot'Suth, but I have no idea how I made it and while i am sur its consistent, or was, I can't be sure of that anymore so I had to rewrite it :( Anyway I went with "iiqaath" = cursed and "Alarion" = "Guardian", but shortened to Alar, thus, Cursed Guard.
     
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    • The War of the Dead - Finale (The Siege of Icecrown)
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    • The War of the Dead - Finale (The Siege of Icecrown)​

    The march upon Icecrown was swift as it was brutal.

    The darkness of the night had faded, but one could hardly tell beneath the oppressive black clouds.

    The storms tamed to the Drakkari's will clashed against the warped skyline under the Scourges dominion, turning it into a writhing mass of rumbling and roaring. Crackling lightning and screeching icicles tore from the sky in a discordant and wild display.

    Winds howled and even when forced to abate the land itself was but a frozen wasteland, bereft of life but churning with a sort of cold spitefulness that left even the Ice Trolls pained.

    Traps and curses rose to stall their march, some even spewing forth toxic sickness that had to be sealed in ice, while others were the more expected exploding waves of spikes and demonic fire.

    In a bid to keep spirits high the priests led their fellows in a song, divine voices rising over the deafening winds, hoarse but powerful as they belted out odes to Zul'Drak and their future glories as heroes.

    But the singing had to a halt when the battle began to dawn on them; ambushes from Undead Nerubians and ghosts bursting from the ice and shadows. Skeletal warriors and rotted hunters raced out from ravines, but it was the children warped into ghoulish nightmares screaming for mercy even as they thrashed and bit and clawed in harrowing charges that left even the msot hardened Legionary in dread.

    Then came the demons, giant in body and fierce in battle their blistering red skin and mighty wings gave them the look of dragons. Their armor was black as Saronite and looked to be shaped of screaming skeletons. In their giant claws they wielded spears of green flame, while the elegant tongue and gentle voices slithered through wards and mental defenses.

    They crashed against the dragoons with a reckless fervor that belied their skill and strength, nearly breaking the ranks of the Sky Legions before bats and spellfire from the ground evened the playing field, but they fought and died without a care, as if death meant nothing!

    More demons began to emerge along with the dead, and in the distance, they could see a tower of gnarled and twisted ice, its very presence radiating dread and malice.

    Malakk drew Zerat and roared over the storm, "We must not idle, spear formations and break through! Slay their leader and the rest are but rabble!"

    The demons swirled around them, letting loose bolts of fire and steel in a bid to break their advance, but this time it did not succeed. They bore the blood and the flames, breaking through the killing field to gather at the enemy's capital. Surrounded the towering citadel of ice that was bound in grim chains was a horde of undead unlike any they'd seen, thousands of humans, trolls, Nerubians, and more were amassed at the citadel like a small ocean of flesh.

    The demons and dead held firm against their oncoming charge, haunting cries and baleful roars booming as they braced for battle.

    Disruption in their ranks came from the cavernous breaches in the mountains; living trolls and Nerubians spilled forth from torn stone and ripped earth.

    The dead could not seal the breaches, let alone break into the tunnels on numbers alone when magic and webs greeted them as more and more Nerubians surged out from the ice and rock.

    "There are coming for the four ziggurats, as Barafu said!" Quetz'Lith bellowed. Surging back into the air as a troop of Frost Wyrms took to the skies.

    "Well, let us not keep them waiting! Break the siege on the caverns and let us receive our reinforcements, claim the pillars, and fight until nothing but dust remains! For Zul'Drak, for the Drakkari Empire!" he roared and was answered with "For Frost King Malakk!"

    That was all that need be said, now only the cries of battle and the song of war would fill the air as they fell upon the dead as a blizzard did the weary traveler, in the thousands, bereft of mercy and with unrelenting wills.

    The battle for Icecrown was well and truly joined.

    Malakk wasn't sure how long the battle had gone on for, but it must have been nearing an hour. The tower was close, but the dead's stamina showed no signs of waning even as the last of their demonic allies faded into flames.

    A host of dead Drakkari surged towards him, their wailing cries bombarding his ears.

    Malakk brandished the twin axes of ice, Frost and Gale, growling, "Fear not my subjects, your king shall liberate you!"

    Elite guards at his back, Malakk dove into the melee, deflecting Saronite and plague tipped spears with axes and delivering devastating slashes that scattered the dead like broken snow. It was a well-practiced dance; one he fell into easily.

    Too easily, when a fallen commander he cut down swelled and surged with a burst of shadows and birthed a demon with wild slashing claws.

    Burning pain exploded on his chest as he was launched back by the blast, the cackling purple-tinged demon exploding towards him, a burst of Fel air flinging back his guards. Malakk slammed Frost into the ground, raising a wall of ice; but was forced back into retreat by a wave of shadows that tore it to shreds.

    The demons moved to strike, and he made to guard when the ground exploded as Anu'Barak burst forth, latching onto the demon's stomach with claws and fangs, skittering parasites swarming across their foes body.

    The demon roared, clawed hands moving like blades to pierce Anu'Barkak's neck only to be bashed aside with a burst of blood as Malakk swung his axes over the Spider King's head.

    The air crackled and pulsed, and with a cry and a flash of magic accompanied torn flesh, the demon flew backwards, blood dripping from chest and arms, mangled metal clinging to its panting form.

    Magic was dancing on his hands; wings flaring to escape and bombard them.

    He didn't get the chance.

    Malakk and Anu'Barak surged forward and with a decisive pair of slashes each carved off an arm with claw and axe alike before skidding to a stop behind him. They turned, Anu'Barak letting loose a bolt of writhing magic which Malakk followed with a tempest of bladed ice.

    The demons screamed, his back was struck, and his magical defenses breached, leaving him exposed to the ice blade that ripped through his armor and sent him staggering forward into a joint assault of Nerubians assassins and his elite guard who crushed him into the ground, impaling his body before he vanished into smoke.

    The two king's gazes met for but a moment before anguished screamed caught their attention.

    Cutting a swathe of destruction through their forces was a towering icon of red and black. Standing taller than any of his kin, the demons let loose sharp spells that brought death for any struck as their attacks rebounded off his shield, scorching those who got too close.

    'So many?! You fiend!' Malakk barreled towards him, weaving around, and jumping over allies and foes to finally leap upon the demon with a sharp cry for blood.

    A gentle smirk greeted him.

    The demon drew back his wings and Malakk was nearly sucked from the air, staggering as he crashed to the icy ground.

    Rolling to his feet as he hit the ground, Malakk threw off the swarming dead with a roar and let loose a stored spell in potion form upon the demon. The green liquid crashes against his field and exploded in a flash, only for the smoke to be breached by a swarm of screeching shadow bats.

    Malakk let loose a burst of light from his axes and brought ruin to most among them but felt many tear chunks of flesh from his frame. In a dual arc he embedded Frost and Gale into pouncing undead and with a heave, ripped Zerat from his back to crash it against the demons' shield, "Kot'Zhun!"

    The defensive spells writhed and lashed as the demon was forced back in shock, as a wave of counter spells fell upon him from their army, Vizier, Shaman and Word Priest alike finally sundering the fiery defense.

    'Die!' Malakk went for the throat in a burning, soul-rending flash of metal and magic.

    The demon weaved around his blow and Malakk barely brought Zerat up in time to shield himself from the pulsating claw strike that landed like a giant cloaked in flames, launching him back.

    He crashed into a horde of undead, "Lot'Suth!" Spit from his lips on instinct and forcing them back; his head was pounding as the battle roared around him when-

    The air shifted, a magical hum filled the battlefield and Anu'Barak roared. "The bridge has been raised, descend upon Icecrown!"

    Malakk's eyes flew wide.

    He was close, the demon had thrown him so close!

    Without a thought he let loose a word of power from his blade, burning bronze flames exploding from Zerat and incinerating the dead, letting him break through their line, almost as if he was meant to.

    "Enough!" a booming, voice that echoed in his mind rang as the demon's giant claws tore into his right arm, stopping him short, for even as flesh tore, magic was weaving around him, binding Malakk in place.

    That was when the air screamed and the demon's eyes grew wide; a bone dragon crashed into the ground, claws slamming against the demon's chest as the dead swarmed over him.

    The demons claws dragged down Malakk's arms, shredding every muscle, but with a roar, he tore himself free to the cry of "Ner'zhul!"

    He barely heard the ensuing explosion of magic.

    He did not see the demons rip the dragon asunder.

    He did not see them turn to chase him before a host of Drakkari and Nerubians fell upon their backs with Anu'Barak at the head.

    All he saw was the towering pillar of ice and the rippling bridge that thrummed as his feet slammed against it, vanishing into dust and forcing him to leap the rest of the distance, slamming down at the icy towers Saronite Gates.

    "You want me all to yourself?" He spat, "You got me."

    Slamming Zerat against the frozen doors, he watched as the ice shattered and the Saronite doors rang out with a discordant wail of defiance but Zerat won the day and cleaved them asunder, revealing the inner sanctum to the Frost King.

    Chest heaving, arm bloodied and ruinous he stood tall before a crowd of decaying Drakkari, each one's eyes alight with despair and anguish as they barreled towards him, weapons raised high.

    "Your king DEMANDS YOU MOVE!"

    The winds surged beneath his feet and Malakk exploded over their heads, slashing their weapons and spells from the air as he came crash down to the ice, barreling over a fallen soldier. They grabbed at his frame but a bellowed roar as he tore Zerat through the air like a club and rent their formations asunder, sending even the dead screeching back.

    Snarling, he slammed his bad shoulder against those barring his path and launched them from the staircase. Zerat roaring as he slashed the blade behind him, keeping his attackers at bay and with a roar charged up the frozen stairway, words echoing in his ears.

    'You are not the one I thought to stand before me…'

    The world was blurry and painful, the voice powerful and compelling, he ignored it all.

    'But perhaps this is better, an empire well in hand, combined with such strength and ferocity.'

    More stood in his way, Malakk blurred and slashed and leapt around them, the icy steps troubling him not, Drakkari were born for snow and ice.

    'Yes, join with me, and together we will conquer a thousand, thousand, thousand worlds!'

    He back handed away the last guard, Zerat scraping on the ice as he stood and looked upon his foe for the first time.

    Dark and twisted armor that looked to be screaming sealed within pulsing blue ice, shaped vaguely like a throne, and radiating so much power it made his mind ache.

    'Join with me and we shall rule as king off all!'

    Spitting out blood he answered.

    "Do you know what makes a king, a king?"

    The presence drew back, the dead down the stairs bristled and Malakk's muscled burned as he raised Zerat.

    "It is because they inspired others to follow in their wake."

    'No, no! Stop this!'

    "You are but a tyrant, unworthy of speaking to me as an equal!"

    He struck.

    In one burning slash of shining bronze and twisted flame he cleaved the Frozen Throne down the middle.

    An anguished cry echoed on his ears as it was sucked into the vacuum of force that followed in the wake of the armors sundering. Light flashed and the dead screamed as an explosion rang out from the throne and its magic was unleashed in a mighty blast, obliterating the pinnacle of the throne chamber.

    Malakk threw himself from the ledge, blade digging into the fraying walls slowing his descent as the peak of Icecrown exploded and jagged ice rained down.

    Kicking off the wall he avoided being speared and with a roar tore through the screaming dead and out the doors as the citadel fell to engulf him.

    At the last second, he was snagged by a passing Drakes talons and was swept away from the blast as it swallowed all that surrounded it in a crackling, roaring scream of ice and death.

    And then, silence, but for the howling winds.

    'It's over…'

    The war was done.

    With the Lich King fallen many of his creations fell into confusion or madness and were put down easily enough. Some fled, others submitted to death and Malakk knew a few would be returning home, be it to Zul'Drak or elsewhere. He could not promise them an ideal reception even in the heart of his empire, but as Frost King he was dutybound to care for all his subjects. Dead, alive or in-between.

    "Damned spider!"

    "Stand down, fool!"

    'Seems we are yet to be done fighting, it seems,' he thought with a sigh, his arm still stung a little despite having healed and he frankly wanted a damn nap. But instead, he forced himself between a crowd of bickering Nerubians and Drakkari.

    Only to look upon the demon that had shredded his arm bound in webs, chains, and magic, though clearly it was barely holding as his jail strained at his every writhe and pulse of magic.

    His gaze snapped to Anu'Barak, "What's all this then?"

    "The spiders won't let us execute the demon!" Moorabi barked, hands on his daggers.

    "Ignorant creature," Anu'Barak hissed, "That would be a waste."

    "It's too dangerous for your cursed experiments, Nerubian," Moorabi seethed.

    "This is not for mere… Curiosity," Anu'Barak answered slowly.

    His good hand brushing over Moorabi's to calm and still him, Malakk motioned to the bound demon with a nod, their gaze following like a raptor, "I find my friends point to have merit, why keep this one alive?"

    Anu'Barak clicked aggressively, rearing up menacingly before stilling and slowly lowering himself down, meeting Malakk's gaze, "Demons do not die when they are killed. They reincarnate in the Nether. In battle to kill is fine, but we must trap this one. Permanently."

    Malakk clicked his tongue, "I do still have Zerat."

    "You think your petty magics can lay low Tichondrius the Darknener," The Demon scoffed, the restraints pulsing and throbbing as he pushed against them.

    Anu'Barak gave Malakk a measuring look, which eh took to mean vague offence at the prospect of a Saronite weapon, before the spider lord pressed on. "It could perhaps, but this one is powerful and prepared, I would not think him beyond a scheme to escape death at your hand."

    "You got a plan then, Spider-King Anu'Barak?" He asked.

    He got the impression the Nerubian was grinning as it answered, "Of course, Frost King Malakk, but we will need you and yours as well."

    The demons suddenly quieted, before hissing, "You would not dare my master's wrath so."

    "I dunno, I dare to do a lot of things," Malakk chuckled. Before answering the Nerubian, "We have a deal, provided it can be done quickly."

    "We need only a spear and well carved tablet of… sufficient size, as well as runes," Anu'Barak answered carefully.

    "Well hop to it folks, it won't get any warmer if we wait around!" Malakk bellowed, before turning on the demon as its slick words drifted into his ears.

    "Think this through little king, you believe your empires vast, but they are not even a twinkle in the eye of my master. Join us now, become immortal like I, and help us claim this world."

    His words were smooth, his tone compelling, one could almost forget he was the one trapped behind layers of spells.

    Almost.

    "For all your silky words, victory lays with us, tiny demon."

    It took less than an hour, the work was hasty but of the quality one would expect when the likes of the Drakkari combined skills with the Nerubians.

    A great stone tablet matching the demons' size and mired in runes that all swirled across the back and edges before flowing into a singular empty circular heart on the tablets front.

    It was raised up behind the thrashing demon who struggled and snarled, "You fools have no idea what you are doing! He will not let you get away with this! Your planet will be burnt to a husk if you do not release me now!"

    Malakkl's head ached and he could see some of the guards growing fear as exhaustion weight heavily on them. Thus, he cackled, "Do you ever shut up?"

    "The Cursed Spear is prepared," Anu'Barak announced, stepping onto the field, dozens parting ways to let the Nerubian approach the demon from the front.

    "I take it you want this one?" Malakk intoned, rubbing his arm.

    Anu'Barak spoke, voice dry and echoing, "Your hand has struck low one enemy this day, I shall tend to the other, then we must speak."

    The demon howled, "Do not!"

    Anu'Barak galloped forward, like a mounted warrior he charged, practically stampeded and with a roar droved the glowing spear through the demon's neck. Their foe threw himself back, hoping to force the spear to chip the stone and disrupt the spell, but Anu'barak's grip remained strong, and the blade tip met stone gently.

    Eyes wide with fright and the binding spells fading in favor of new one's; the demons howled and thrashed, spells bristly at their claw tips, battering against Anu'Barak's shields.

    "You cannot!" His body spasmed madly.

    "You will not!" His skin stretched as his spirited writhed to get free.

    "You are… Inferior!" The tablet thrummed and his body and spirit bled into one singular mass, of fangs and giant skull that was drawn away as though dust blown in the wind, right into the tablets heart.

    The stone began to warp and shift, faintly glowing as the rock became malleable and the runes flowed liked fast-growing vines over a slowly emerging figure on the tablet.

    With one, shuddering, grinding gasp, it ended and standing before them was a tablet bearing a perfect image of the demon in a rage as their body was bound in runic chains.

    "Can he still think, or feel?" Malakk asked, striding towards the stone.

    "No, sadly his mind and soul will be in dormancy, but he can do no harm in this state, pose no threat," They added with a hiss, glowering at the trapped demon.

    Malakk nodded, "Lets douse it in Saronite then and toss him into the ocean or some deep dark hole, so that no one will ever break it and let him lose."

    Anu'Barak bristled, "The oceans are bad, twisted old ones reside there. I recommend an island off the North coast. It is the coldest place on this world and of worth to no one; let him be frozen and forgotten for eternity."

    Malakk shrugged, "I'll have my dragoons fly out and inspect it. The rest of you, get it ready to be moved and be careful. Once we arrive home, I will treat you all to a feast in Gundrak itself!"

    That drew a ragged cheer from the crowd as they began working, allowing he and Anu'Barak to slide away and converse in nominal privacy, with only their escorts close by and listening, eyeing each other warily.

    "You wanted to speak, Spider-King, so the first turn is your own," Malakk offered.

    Anu'Barak's eyes glinted oddly even in such cloudy climates, breaths visible as they spoke through dented armor that was bound to their frame.

    "You aided us, this was not selfless of you, it was pragmatic, defeating an enemy that would pose a threat to you."

    "A damned funny way to say thank you, I am thinking," Malakk countered, drawing a sigh from the Nerubian.

    "All beings operate in their self-interest, even if they do not admit it, that is fact," they stressed.

    "You trying to make a point, it isn't like you to dance around things and I've no music for us," he smirked.

    "You still think you are amusing? Tragic," Anu'Barak muttered, before marching around to face him. "Your people believe in balance correct, of the scale? You make a sacrifice, your god awards it, a thief has their possessions taken, thus things are balanced, correct?"

    Malakk's brow arched even as he began to grin, seeing the Nerubian's point, "Inelegant but apt."

    "I am seeking to balance the scales between our empires, that you or your successors do not use the aid rendered here as a pretense for something foolish in later years." The Spider-King leaned forward, voice sharp, "We will help in your war as you helped in ours."

    Malakk lowered his voice, "Not to sound ungrateful, but you lot in any fit shape for that?"

    "We are stronger than you know," Anu'Barak answered, guttural voice rattling in their armor before they shook their head. "But our aid will not be warriors and numbers, you aided us but only so much; instead, I offer you arcanists, we can spare a chorus to help in your war. Keep them safe and there will be no debt between us."

    Malakk rubbed his chin and hummed idly. He could probably get more, but that was just as likely to end in a fight and as contentious as things could be, he wasn't of the mind to agitate his neighbors lest he need to.

    'They might have other motives, but with so few involved we can moderate that. Trade and trinkets could be a blessing but maybe that can come later. For now... Better to just take the win, rather than go for extra points and lose it all. not like I was expecting this to begin with,' He mused.

    Then, a thought sparked, and he looked to Anu'Barak. "Your arcanists know a good bit about the Waygates do they not?"

    Anu'Barak stilled before slowly bobbing their torso, "We do."

    "And you still offer their aid?" He asked.

    "I do, use their knowledge as you need and see fit. So long as it does not threaten my empire," The Nerubian added.

    Malakk held his arm out, "A kings bargain then, ey?"

    Anu'Bara's voice rattled in their maw, "A Kings Bargain," taking his arm in his long, clawed grasped and shaking.

    "You got a good grip on you."

    "You as well."

    The march back to Zul'Drak was a solemn one, not bereft of joy or revelry, but it was definitely a muted affair.

    'Hard not to be when we're carrying thousands of urns,' Malakk thought bitterly even as relief clutched at his heart. 'How dangerous could they have become if they took the Nerubians, took the humans, took everyone and gave traitors time to fester before they marched on us?'

    The thought would almost make him shudder, but a king could not entertain cowardice in one's self, so he refuted it and focused his mind on the here, the now and the future. They'd made camp amidst Crystalsong for the night and would arrive at the steps in the late evening to fanfare but not celebration. The dead needed to be given their due before any could celebrate their sacrifice and the heroism of the living.

    Not that it was stopping the accompanying illusionists from getting down every detail from any and every passing soldiers that they might recreate the epic battles to adoring crowds. 'I expect they'll gloss over my wounds as they usually do, or perhaps try and have me shrug them off…' Neither thought disturbed him much, save that it was a reminder of the now buried demons power and of the fact he held to greater masters, locked out of the world for now but for how long?

    'We cannot afford to linger behind our walls, it's made us complacent, the Great Mothers coming truly did thaw the frost that was enshrining even I in indolence,' Malakk thought.

    He looked across the meeting yurt he and his advisors had taken to. Thick woven floors, walls & roof of reeds, layered with thick animal furs for them to sit upon, with crystals of captured sun for light in place of flames.

    They were scattered about the chamber and could hear soldiers chattering outside even as magic kept their own voices obscured if not totally silent.

    'It wouldn't do for people to hear us bickering like brats,' Malakk thought, resisting the urge to rest his chin on his hand lest he looked lackadaisical.

    "The question of what to do with the free dead, remains?" Gal'Darah said, fingers tapping along his robes.

    "They are kin, they are free," Malakk said hotly, "They must be checked to ensure no sickness spreads, but I will not turn away my subjects."

    Moorabi was quick to cut in, "Noble to be sure, but what kinda life will they lead with us as they are? I already know many of mine will hold a grudge, it isn't far but..."

    "We should seek the council of the Loa," Slad'Ran hissed, "Undeath is unnatural after all, but they are victims."

    "And in the meantime?" Malakk said absently. He could host them in Gundrak, in theory at least, but he needed to tread carefully lest people think him mad or corrupted.

    Zim'bo raised his hand, "Frost King Malakk, if it pleased yourself and your honored advisors, I could host these lost souls in Drak'THaron Keep. The_Prophet_Tharon'ja has shown interest in the undeads condition and the fortress god is not unwelcoming, or so I am thinking."

    Malakk clicked his tongue, to quell any raised voices as he thought, it was convenient in truth, Drak'Tharon was a city unto itself and would grant the afflicted privacy but safety.

    "Provided Tharon'Ja indeed approves, I will endorse this decision, and allow you, your Legionaries and the fallen to make your way to Drak'THaron as we near Zul'Drak."

    Zim'bo bowed his head, "I shall have word sent to the Prophet at once," before turning to leave the yurt.

    Silence reigned for but a few moments as they let him leave, before Moorabi slapped his drinking saucer against the ground, firmly. "New business. Can we trust Nerubians, really?" Moorabi groused, sitting directly across and in near open opposition to him, unusual and unpleasant.

    Malakk waved airily even as his voice grew sharp, "That was a bargain between kings, I'd not doubt it."

    "Kings other than you have felt otherwise," Zol'Maz muttered.

    "And they are dead," Malakk answered.

    Arctikus scowled, her small, sharp tusks practically glinting in the enchanted crystal lights as she added, "He hosted my tribe and treated us as our agreement demanded. I'd not call him a friend, but his word bound him, you doubt one who held to their obligations as host? Who bled alongside us on the battlefield?"

    Warlord Zol'Maz rumbled, "Nerubians hold to their word only so long as it suits their needs."

    Gal'Darah chuckled, "If you are unmoved by the Great Mothers wisdom and our liege's authority." The last half came out biting and accusatory, "Then simply accept that the Nerubians needs are best met by holding to their word and let us move on."

    Moorabi was grunting, fangs grinding but he could not find the words he wanted, maybe he knew it was pointless to start with but needed to air his grievances. 'I shall give him some time, we can talk again soon.'

    "The matter is settled," Malakk said as several moved to speak, this time his gaze and tone shut each right up and he sent a grateful glance to Arctikus and Gal'Darah before moving on.

    Zol'Maz beckoned to speak and Malakk waved the troll on, eyes cold and critical.

    "If that matter is settled then I think we must talk of the lost legions," he said with a certain level of pomposity.

    'A miscalculation,' Malakk thought hiding his scowl, 'You who merely escorts us home; had you fought you might have clout and honor, but right now you have nothing.'

    "The Thousand Legions of Zul'Drak is no more, even Gundrak's own mighty Ten Legions has been nearly cut in half," he tapped a line of leather parchment, "Nineteen Legions lost to this battle all together and with so many dead others will retire, diminishing our army more."

    Arctikus carefully kept her piece, but fortunately she had allies, such as Slad'Ran who hissed, "I hope you are not counseling cowardice for our war against the Alliance, Warlord, for that would be a grave sin indeed."

    "I counsel nothing," He snapped back, "I speak the truth, we no longer have five hundred thousand soldiers, those who replace them will be fresh and inexperienced."

    "And those who fought, and stay will have garnered experience in mass warfare unfamiliar to the skirmishing and turf wars of broken Zul'Drak," Malakk cut in. A reminder of not just the bitter gains, but also their fractured past and unified present behind him.

    "That is true, Frost King Malakk," Zol'Maz said, trying to rally, but no one who fought was about to give him a chance.

    "There were no plans to launch an ill-prepared invasion, Zol'Maz," Arctikus said carefully, "your caution does you credit," she left that hanging and Gal'Darah snatched it.

    "But we cannot let caution become cowardice, how easily this war of the dead could have been worse had we waited to act."

    "You think me cowardly, but one must guard their home as well as fight at the front, and this Alliance is a much larger force than these dead," the Warlord countered.

    "The dead have no fear, the living have much," Arctikus countered pointedly.

    "The living also adapt," Moorabi muttered, "We cannot be arrogant."

    "In this," Quetz'Lith said, speaking up for the first time, flying for days had worn on her, the dragons and bats alike, "We must proceed with care, strategy and fine information. I do not doubt the Great Mothers wisdom, but more recent reports would serve us well."

    Slad'Dran's tongue flickered out, "Perhaps the Amani could be convinced to scout, or failing them, we send an expeditionary force ahead?"

    Malakk clicked his tongue, "A wise motion and one I support. I would not want us to become dependent on the Amani though. They can be commissioned to advise our advanced teams but nothing more."

    With a light sigh he pushed himself to his feet and proclaimed, "This was a lesson, one steeped in pain and blood, but from it we can gleam much. Our forces are well schooled in battle, but less so in open warfare, we must improve this."

    Holding up a second finger he added, "What's more, the environment played as much a role in our losses as the dead, the south will be kinder in this, but bright open planes we do not know must be treated with caution."

    A final thumb unfolded and in harsh tones he spoke. "We must not fight the enemy on their own terms lest we have no other choice. We must study them further, prepare our forces and lay such a groundwork to await them that we can take a decisive lead in this war." his voice grew harsher, "Breaking their leaders, sundering their army, and shattering their mighty forts before they come to know us."

    His gaze swept over the room and all bowed their heads in acceptance before he sat back down and added more airily, "But that is for the future. Now let us focus on the fallen, the ice urns will hold until we return home, but the families must be compensated, their lives honored, and communities given a memorial."

    Gal'dDarah nodded, stroking his tusk as he added, "I believe a week of mourning would give us the time we need to honor the dead and enshrine their souls as need be."

    "Then it shall be done," Malakk said, "After that, we shall celebrate their lives, honor their sacrifice and lionize those that fought alongside us and returned home. We should ensure they receive an extra stipend from the food backs as well, along with any healers they need, whether they remain among the legions or not."

    "It will be as you order, Frost King Malakk," They answered in unison.

    "Very well then, if we are done for the night…" he said, accepting a crate from Bith'Sa and removing from it richly detailed stone cups and a bottle of wine sealed in a bronze jug, "Let us share a drink."

    He tossed each a goblet and soon enough the wine was flowing, and the tense air began to fade as they spoke not of wars, but of plans when they returned home and boastful jests.

    It was not long before they slipped from the yurt to sit out among the others still awake in the camp to listens to the crystals sing and watch the stars together.

    'This peace is what all kings fight for.'
    __________________________________
    NOTES:
    And thus we reach the end of the War of the Dead Arc, I hope everyone had fun and please feel free to share your thoughts!

    Some notable details on this include:
    The Drakkari and Nerubians being able to kill the Scourge now as its still functionally 'in the cradle' However this was helped by Ner'zhul trying to play the situation to his advantage, hence Tichodnrius's anger when Ner'zhul helps Malakk get by him. If you're wondering about why Ner'zhul took such a risk; basically it was a combo of fear he'd be killed if he didn't and underestimating Malakk's ability to resist his mental compulsion.

    Also you may have noticed I destroyed the Lich King and the crown; yeah long story short I am ignoring Shadowlands as it runs contrary to too much older lore I built this fic around and liked too much to get rid off, sorry if you like that expansion.

    Oh and me opting against rewriting the Spell Language this time as O liked these spell names too much and in hindsight I think I may have built the language out of component letters and sentence structure over just mashing words together and forgotten!

    I hope Anu'Barak's offer of aid was properly contextualized, both in terms of 'why' and also its very limited but specifically helpful nature by offering expert arcanists but nothing else.

    Also as to their armies size, for reference, Zul'Drak is a lot like Quel'Thalas in the sense its food production yields would match that of a modern nations, but unlike the Elves Drakkari don't have kids sporadically so their population is quite massive though be it still smaller than several nations I can name and some (Like say Gilneas, Ironforge or Stormwind Pre-fall) wouldn't be lacking in people either.
     
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    The Three S's of Successful Empire Building
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    • "Standards, stability and safety."

    "These are the corner stones of any successful empire."

    "For without standards to inform good practice, there will be no stability and safety."

    "For without stability, there can be no mechanism, by which one's subjects and nation are kept safe."

    "For without safety, there are no subjects, no means by which the system runs or people for it to serve, and thus, there is no empire."

    Quote:
    Attributed to Frost King Malakk, in his first address to the newly united court of Zul'Drak. To this day, this mantra dictates the duties of an emperor to rule a successful empire.

    NOTE:
    Just something I did for a little fun while musing on Malakk's motives.
     
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    • Interlude: Setting the Stage (The Invasion of Rohk'aka)
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    • Interlude: Setting the Stage (The Invasion of Rohk'aka)​

    With wars end came days of mourning and celebration.

    When those days passed by, with the dead given their due reverence and the living honored, life began to move on for the people of Zul'Drak.

    New recruits were found and inducted into training; mines were built with new travel routes established and trade began again; even expanding, with once distant tribes like the Kamagua and Icemist seeking closer ties with those that threw down the dead.

    With all that had come and gone it was almost easy to forget there was another war on the horizon. One that would not end with a single grand battle, even though many would wish it so. It was for that war that Quetz'Lith found herself alongside Gal'Darah, Barafu and a Nerubian Vizier within a ritual chamber in the Frostmane Compound.

    The smooth cut and oddly domed chamber was spartan by necessity; dragons were difficult to corral at the best of times after all, she should know.

    "Has it worked?" She groused, eyes locked on her mount, frozen within a fading block of ice, just like she'd found them.

    "Uncertain, its mind is still sealed," Seer_Ixit said with a click.

    Quetz'Lith's claws dug into her hands and Gal'Darah companionably clapped her on the back, "There's no reason it shouldn't-"

    "It stirs!" Barafu cheered as her spell hastened and the ice began to shiver and crack before shattering into fading sparkles on the air.

    A gout of flamed burst from her mount's maw and Quetz'Lith barely scooped Barafu up in time to keep her out of harm's way, snarling at the drake as it stumbled back snapping drunkenly.

    "It works, splendid," Ixit murmured. "We will have to test this further and memorize the means."

    A weak wave of magic radiated from Gal'darah snuffing out her mounts flames as Quetz'Lith placed Barafu down carefully, she was dainty even by Frost Troll standards, and moved to kneel before the angry beast.

    "Come now," Quetz'Lith whispered, hand held out and a snack in her palm, "Nothing to fear, you just went away for a time, you are back now, I made sure of it."

    She could sense their uncertainty through the bond, but these dragons were ruled by their bellies, and they had been through this before. Thus, it quickly trundled forward, and she flicked the meat into its snapping jaws, waiting until it swallowed before tenderly running her hand along their spines, making the bronze drake preen.

    "We will need to test this again," Ixit cut in, making her hiss.

    "Not," Barafu added hastily, "on your mount, merely to ensure it can work, if it does, well it could help your forces much."

    A low click escaped Quetz'Lith's lips, and she nodded, "I am aware, but I'd not stress my mount further and I've other tasks to attend to."

    "We can cycle in others, seeing how it works on the dragons I no longer worry for the effect it might have on my rhino's," Gal'Darah said, grinning.

    "Yes, my hypothesis of the dragon's internals being necessary is less proven. Under the best circumstances it will be slower for creatures that cannot generate flames," Ixit said, as a scurrying assistance copied down notes.

    "If so, then we can easily bring mounted warfare and aerial scouting to the south, without fear of being eaten out of house and home," the Grand Prophet chuckled.

    "Frost King Malakk will be glad to hear it, I'll inform him," Quetz'Lith said, eager to leave the pair to their chatter.

    "I shall escort you out," Barafu offered with a smile.

    Bowing, Quetz'Lith tidied her mohawk and quickly followed after the tiny magus, her drake ambling behind her.

    Malakk watched the collection of expert builders and crafters before him. All gathered in a comfortable social hall within his chambers in Gundrak, food, drink and amusements aplenty. But all their focus was on the matter at hand.

    "So, can it be done?" Malakk asked, idly toying with one of the dice on the game table that had become the hub for this meeting.

    "I would believe so, Frost King Malakk," his own master engineer, Yaraku, said, but they sounded uncertain.

    The Tuskarr, Baru, bristled, "Not here it cannot, not if you want to use it, you must make it on this land you intend to travel."

    "Hmm, so it cannot float, a shame but not ruinous," he hummed.

    The Amani, Spearcrafter_Otembe, waved his hand, "We can make the frame here, your Iron Trees would be best, combine it with that ever so light Saronite of yours in just the right spots and it can be interlocked together even after sea travel. You will need to build the frame on land or carry it in pieces across the see however."

    A murmur of agreement ran throughout the chamber and the purple haired troll was given a moment to preen before humility returned.

    "Your experience is most welcome, Otembe, with that in mind I would have you all draw up plans as best you can," Malakk said playfully rolling the dice back along the table.

    "We should test it first though yes, as best we can?" Baru murmured, thick fingers running through his beard.

    Bith'Sa spoke up from the door, "Frost King Malakk, Prophet_of_Har'koa is here to speak with you, it seems he has good news."

    Malakk smirked and flung himself to his feet, "Friends, avail yourselves my hospitality and do whatever needs be done to see if this is at all possible." He gestured and Kutube'sa placed several blue medallions bearing his sigil on the table. "New Rank Medallions, re-forged and fresh to ensure you have access to all you may need with no trouble."

    "Thank you, Frost King Malakk," several cheered as they took up their insignia, the group breaking up as some moved to talk, others to drink and some to continue their dice game.

    Malakk heard the doors shut behind him and he began the trip from the chamber, towards the nearest aerial reception hall, a great smile on his lips.

    Malakk marched towards his throne room, apparently a guest awaited him and had already made herself at home.

    "The Prophet_of_Har'koa seems to think this is an answer to the Sea-Priests prayers," Bith'sa murmured.

    'Priests see the sun rising in the morning as an answer to a prayer,' Malakk thought.

    Kutube'sa hummed, "Think it's some island troll with a patron we don't know?"

    "Could be," Malakk murmured, irritated by the outsider's apparent caginess and his own prophets playing along with it.

    'Still if this is an oceanic priest that would be good tidings,' he mused.

    Shango was a fine Loa for sailing, but the priests and prophets had been trying to court an oceanic Loa, akin to Oacha'noa, to their side as well. Sadly, despite Zul'Drak's Loa's penchant for greed, most gods and spirits rarely left their chosen subjects with ease and that was without such efforts risking offence.

    None of which was helped by there being few oceanic Loa to begin with, though old records indicated it had not always been this way.

    'Maybe Anu'Barak had a point about evil things in the depth?' Malakk mused, tongue clicking as he turned old names over in his head before dismissing the thought. That was a question for late night philosophizing, and he needed to focus.

    The throne room side doors swung open with a booming wave of air and Malakk was greeted by the sight of a lean, sharp troll woman with shiny pink hair, and an odd outfit.

    She wore thick boots and thin dark pants adorned with shark teeth, but the coat draped over her loose white top was more of human or maybe goblin make if Arctikus's word was anything to go by. With green material and gold buttons, while adorning her head was what he guessed was a captain's hat and…

    He repressed some amusement at the sight.

    Either to obscure, enhance or simply adorn her oddly small tusks the troll woman had attached a golden hook to each. Coming to stand before his throne she had taken a seat atop a small portable cannon, rolling a black ball beneath her free foot. A shark styled belt buckle glinted at her waste as she sent him a fang filled smirk.

    Near her was Loque'Koa, prophet of Har'koa, his spotted leather robes brushing up against the bag of cannon balls she had dropped on the chamber floors as guard's watcher her suspiciously.

    Malakk just waved, "Greeting and welcome to my home! Know that I have accepted you as my guest and will treat your accordingly." He took a seat upon his throne and tapped the smooth stone, "Now then, how may the Frost King be of service?"

    The stranger folded her arms over her chest and chortled, "My, my, such a royal reception I am receiving, oh noble Frost King. I could near mistake you for Zandalari with such pomp and hospitality!"

    Malakk's fangs ground for but a moment as several others hissed and the prophet suddenly looked at his guest in wide eyed shock as Malakk spoke. "You would have to travel to Zandalar to see the manner of their king, I myself would not waste the time."

    Deciding to cut to the chase before their banter could continue, he simply said, "Your Loa is Gral, and I take it he has sent you hear upon hearing the preaching of our uninitiated priests?"

    Her eyes flashed before she stood up to her full height and clapped but once, "So the reputation isn't just for show, you've good eyes your majesty." She offered a sarcastic, flourish of a bow and announced, "Gral is my patron and together we have seen battle on every front and in all things, we are of a mind, know me, Captain_Hooktusk!"

    "You have a reputation among the Amani shipwrights," Malakk commended. "They speak highly of your efforts in the Second War. I am thinking, are my schemes already known across the seas?"

    She grinned, hooks glinting in the flames and crystal light, "Nothing stays secret in this world for long, least of all war. But fret not, you've got more to worry about with goblins setting up shop in Northrend than the humans being ready for ya. They'd never listen to us 'creatures'."

    Something in her tone radiated a bitterness and Malak wondered at the source of her smaller frame and delicate features but shrugged it off. "I am glad to know we have not lost the element of surprise, but I ask the question. What is it you want here, captain?"

    The young troll rose her arms high and roared with laughter, "What do I want? I want wealth, I want excitement and adventure… But most of all I want this!" She doffed off her hat and bowed grandly, "I am Hooktusk, your new Navarch."

    Malakk forced the laughter bubbling in his chest down, to announce, "Audacious, aren't you?"

    "I am a pirate, it is in my nature," She answered.

    "T- This is not how you said it would be done," Loque'Koa sputtered, after finally finding his voice.

    Malakk just rumbled with laughter, "Calm down friend, I am not angered," Malakk rested his chin on his fist and hummed, "Why should I appoint you as my Navarch?"

    "You will appoint me your Navarch because I'm the best choice," she waved lazily, "I saw your fleet, tis a mighty fine thing, but your sailors are inexperienced, novices. I'd sooner appoint my first, second and third mates to be captains than the best of yours."

    "There is a fine line between pride and arrogance," Malakk offered smoothly, "You are dancing upon it."

    "Perhaps," She answered carefully, "But I speak the truth. The Amani are too worn down to lead for you, and your own forces may be training, but they have not lived or fought on the sea & seen her for the harsh mistress she is. I have grown up on the ocean, fought in raids, mastered a ship and led entire battles."

    She tapped her belt buckle, "Besides, I know ya'll are looking for a new Prophet."

    "You could be a Zandalari spy, Gral is well liked by them," Malakk mused, not believing it for a second.

    Hooktusk scoffed, "They'd not welcome a breed like me on their golden isle and I don't need-em. As for mighty Gral, he grows bored with the Zandalari's sedentary existence. They worship, but they do not hunt," She threw her arms wide. "You are where the future is, you and your empire will have battles and offerings for generations to come!"

    'Typical ravenous Loa,' Malakk mused. "Let us make a deal then," he said aloud

    "I do like myself some deals," She grinned, "A captain's word is her bond after all."

    Malakk rose to his full height and proclaimed, "You and yours shall join my followers in their training, surpass them all as you claim and I will let you dictate any changes to our methods and if that works out." He met her greedy smirk with his own, "You shall be awarded the rank of Navarch, granted a temple along the coast as well as acolytes and riches aplenty."

    The captain slapped her hat over her head, slung her cannon over her arm and hefted the cannon balls over her shoulder, "And when I claim my deserved rank, I will call you my king," She swore before striding out of the chambers.

    "I look forward to it."

    Hooktusk rather liked she and her crew's accommodation in Gundrak.

    It wasn't her old place down by the shore on Undermine, but she couldn't deny the art, the crystals and comforts made her 'feel' rich.

    Or at least like she was about to rob someone rich.

    Loafing on a large lounge, her lieutenants had all spread out across the dimly lit chamber, not needing to huddle by the comfortably roaring fire but instead taking seats, cushions or simply laying back against walls.

    A motley mix of trolls, goblins and more, the first to speak up was Sizzle.

    Fangs glinting, the Gnoll giggled nervously, "Was it right? To be so cocky?"

    Hooktusk shrugged, "If he cannot handle me at my most obnoxious, he and his would not heed me at all."

    Jin'Ha nodded, his mossy green skin tinged a shade whiter than it had once been, "Warlord Zul'jin always bore you with good humor."

    Gaz scoffed, brushing burning red hair from her face, the goblin pushed herself up on her seat, "And how did that turn out, hm?"

    Jin'Ha growled, "The navy did not lose that war."

    "Well, you're half right, the better question is, should we have fought in it at all," Gaz countered.

    Sizzle chuckled, not quite nervous but tense, "We are pirates. We are always at war."

    Hooktusk rolled onto her back, damaged, golden coin from the heyday of the Gurubashi empire clasped between two of her three fingers and thumb. 'Explain that one, 'ma,'.

    She waved her hand and cut the chatter, "We don't now if we got hired yet, or what comes next if we are, so peace for now. I won't be leading us into a war we can't win."

    Gaz arched her eyebrow, "And if we do?"

    "Win?" Jin'Ha chuckled.

    "Or lose," Gaz countered.

    "Then we will do what we always do," Sizzle whined, nursing a pot of tea.

    Gaz huffed tiredly, dark shadows under her eyes as she looked for Grol & Tol for their take, but the twin headed Ogre remained in their meditation.

    So Hooktusk sent her a wane smile and said, "A pirate's life is all narrow escapes. So, enjoy having a safe port and comfy bed for now, ey?"

    At that moment she felt her belt buckle thrum and stilled, her lieutenants freezing too, all aware of what that meant.

    However, she sensed now danger through her patron's touch, but pleased intrigue. She sat up hastily and marched to the looming door and pulled it open with a whoosh and was greeted by the sight of a Drakkari messenger who blinked owlishly before bowing.

    "This one brings word from Frost King Malakk," Rising to their full impressive height the troll added. "Frost King Malakk, Grand Prophet Gal'Darah and Warlord Zol'Maz shall be accompanying you on the morning stars rise south, to begin overseeing the trials that shall determine your rank."

    'That was swift,' she thought, but rallied quickly as they continued.

    "As for tonight you and your crew are invited to join his majesty in the throne room for a feast, if you so wish to," The Drakkari bowed and stood at attention, awaiting her response.

    Hanging off the door she contorted her head back and smirked, "Well, what do you say we eat our esteemed host out of house and home before blowing through these trials, ey?"

    Her lieutenants cheered.

    Otembe had been invited to the feast, naturally, but he had turned down the invitation. Fortunately, no one could fault a scholar for being reclusive at times.

    Malakk and his court were pleasant enough company, always eager to listen of tales outside the isolated little world they had built themselves, but Otembe had reached the zenith of what such exchanges could gift him.

    Instead he returned to his temporary lab, a side chamber to his ornate guest chambers in which he barely slept for there was so much to do!

    'Samples, spells and Special Ingredients, oh my,' he mused happily.

    Gaze dancing across his now crowded lab, the stone walls almost entirely hidden behind large tables, the enchanted anvil and of course, layer after layer of materials. Be it lumber from Iron Wood Trees, trinkets gathered from across and beyond Zul'Drak, demonic blades, a broken lightning gun from the rumored Iron Dwarves, and of course, Saronite.

    'So much fuss, for such a small thing,' Otembe mused, looking at the strangely shifting ingot, contained within a three dimensional hexagonal prison, layered with runes and holy magic.

    Otemebe gave the construct a carless toss and watched it clink against a sealed box of harvested crystals and into his hand,.

    'A weaker rebound than one would expect, but reality's rules still hold,' He mused, before twirling a slim, steel scalpel in his fingers and jamming it against the Saronite.

    To no effect.

    A weaker troll might have despaired at Malakk's quiet suggestion to try and build a cannon that could launch Saronite, but Otembe just smirked, mind already ablaze.

    'A latch mechanism could maybe work, but no, too unreliable, and the Saronite could not do near enough damage to make such a venture worthwhile.'

    Enchanted spears and javelins were an answer unto themselves, but they had much the same problem. Too blunt, for too little gain outside of the most specific of circumstances.

    Placing the Saronite down on an empty spot at his desk, Otembe drew his scroll out and began going over his lists. There would be plenty of time here and at home to puzzle over such a task, but for now, he had to be sure he was getting everything he could no matter how irrelevant.

    After all, when granted such free reign, one could not fault a scholar for seeking to gain all they could.

    Hooktusk was fortunate that years of practice and the blessings of a Loa who allowed her indulgences, let the captain shrug off the worst fall out from the previous night.

    She and her crew had been the center of attention, even in the not quite brimming hall, Drakkari and 'Wolvar' she had found out, who were curious of their daring do across the seas.

    Or intrigued by the sight of unfamiliar creatures, especially Grol and Tol, the only one among her crew who stood nearly as tall as any given Drakkari.

    Those factors and the size of Drakkari servings meant she had more than her fair amount of Drakkari wine while sampling Hookah and foods in abundance.

    Brushing a hand through pink locks, she arched her brow as they trekked down the grand, if looming halls of Gundrak and she finally asked.

    "Will we not be taking dragons due south?"

    Malakk glanced back, he had swapped his formal robes for a sort of layered jacket-robe with long twin tails that made it resemble a coat, "No, the dragons are far too mulish for anyone but trained handlers. Bats would do, they have served us for many generations, but…" He dragged out the word with tinkling amusement. "We have something else in mind."

    Grol & Tol's eyes shot up, the metal plates adorning their faces glinting as their eyes were tinged a faint purple.

    A twin set of grand and ornate doors were pulled open with a heave and Hooktusk took in the sight of a ritual chamber. Drakkari iconography drifting the closer one got to the heart and replaced by stranger, spider like shapes. That were themselves touched with sharp swirls and rigid containment runes, that called to mind Amani Enchanters and even the work of Gnomish enchantment.

    "Teleportation," She hummed.

    "Teleportation!" Malakk cheered, cloak billowing as he rose his mighty arms high, "A gift from the Nerubians, and curated by Frostmane and Amani arcanists."

    Without fear or worry, the Frost King stepped into the heart of the ritual circle where a tall, languid creatures of shining carapace and almost organic looking robes awaited them, pincers clicking.

    Not one to be outdone on boldness, Hooktusk quickly joined the Drakkari and his bodyguards and was followed by her crew.

    As the Nerubian began weaving its magics, carefully watched by Malakk's guards as well as Grol & Tol, she simply rolled her shoulders and asked.

    "So, think the bats will stick around now that you have this?"

    Malakk chuckled, "I am told too much teleportation is a problem for the skein, and with so much ritual and magics? No, I don not think the loyal bats shall be retired in my lifetime."

    The magic was growing to a powerful hum when Gaz cut in, "You should look into getting some good Goblin Zeppelins, my second cousin works on those and they're a delight!"

    The world vanished into a writhing stream of surging color and sensations, Hooktusk could 'taste' blue and then a moment later that was in truth instantaneous, they had arrived.

    Malakk looked unperturbed, merely clicking his tongue, "Zepplins, ey?"

    Hooktusk meanwhile scanned their surroundings and quickly spied Daggercap Bay where she and her crew had docked. All five of her ships still rested comfortably in the bay, dwarfed as they were by Drakkari vessels, worked on by Tuskar, Forest and Ice Troll alike.

    The wind washed over them, and Hooktusk grinned, "I do so love to drink in the sea air again."

    "I am growing rather partial to it myself," Malakk answered, before offering a polite nod to the Nerubian, "Thank you for your service."

    The creature clicked several times and then vanished, presumably called back to the ritual chamber.

    Clapping his hands, Malakk turned to face them, "Well, let us not keep Otembe and his cohorts waiting, I am sure you have many questions for them!"

    Jin'Ha blinked owlishly, "The Warlord sent you his Otembe?"

    "Indeed, he did," Malakk said, with a pleased hum.

    'Then he is quite taken with whatever you offer him,' Hooktusk mused, before nodding, "His reputation speaks for itself, shall we go? I am eager to begin these trials of yours."

    Malakk chuckled and there was a faint edge to it, "Oh fret not, they shall begin soon enough, and I am thinking you will find them both efficient and sufficient!"

    Otembe's research station in what the Drakkari called Utgarde_Keep was even more cluttered than his Gundrak guest quarters.

    Where there weren't materials there were sketches, where there weren't sketches there were notes, where there weren't notes, one could find anything from mangled metal, to finely crafted gears and experimental plating.

    It was a familiar ordered chaos, but even more comfortable than his own home.

    The Spearcrafter looked over a scroll of etching he'd made of the runes inlaid to the structure, both the ancient Vyrkul and the Drakkari's bolstering script.

    'These will prove useful,' he mused, before sealing the scroll away in his Ula'Tek blessed trunk.

    Otemebe turned his attention to the oval window and watched as some of the landing vessels drilled.

    'We need to better compensate for the humans defenses and small ports,' He mused.

    Drakkari ships were proving massive as one would expect, but while helpful on the open sea, to an extent, it could make an ordered landing party tricky.

    'I should speak with that Baru again,' he mused, hand rushing through dark purple locks.

    So far he had found he liked the Tuskarr, even aside their near uniformly cheer disposition, a cultural affect he did not dig into, the simple fact was he'd been impressed. Their kayaks and leather craft eclipsed both Amani and Drakkari efforts by a fair margin.

    'It is no wonder those Rageclaw are so fond of them,' he mused, watching as a small gathering of local Wolvar sat on the shore, fishing and watching the trolls practice, cheering on chosen vessels and jeering others.

    'The sails, sails are another problem,' Otembe mused, Amani cannon vessels had adapted a sail stretched across a sealed roof and buoyed by Loa magic. But that would be too vulnerable for greater vessels, yes large sails were far too easy a target...

    His mind wandered as he saw a Drakkari stretching, their arms whirling and his mind flickered back to the Second War.

    'Gnomish rudders.... There is potential there,' he thought, turning away and returning to his sketches.

    Otembe had work to do.

    Great Mother Arctikus was never without work to do.

    When she was not managing her tribe, she was aiding in war planning; when she was not doing that she was navigating the complex web of alliances and friendships held by the Frost King's Court.

    'And when I am not doing that, I am doing this,' she mused, looking around the great halls of Azjol'Nerub. No longer was she upon its pristine walkways or web like structures, but instead she was housed in a... Villa, of sorts.

    It still held to the Nerubian aesthetic, smooth dark stones were lined with gold and green jeweled ornamentation that all seemed to glow, with a subtle but pervasive light.

    As the only tribe with no historical animosity for the Nerubians and more pointedly, the only one's to have stayed safely in the nation in living memory. Malakk had appointed them his chief diplomats alongside a small Rageclaw contingent, who had sporadically managed to trade with Nerubians in the past, but always with wariness.

    It was not a job she resented, though some dubbing her tribe spider speakers, even in jest, could pose problems, especially for those deeply wounded by Nerubians in the past. Some like Moorabi only seemed to tolerate the practical partnership due to loyalty to Malakk, but it was her duty to see them through to something more permanent.

    As the Nerubians had no real history of long term diplomacy there were no guest houses so to speak, and as this accord was expected to last sometime, the duty of hosting had become something of a political matter.

    'Which is how I am here,' she mused, bowing to the Nerubian queen, Nezar'Azret.

    "I thank you, honored hostess, for your attention in this matter," she intoned, careful to keep her thoughts similarly ordered.

    The Nerubian queen flicked her pincers in the physical approximation of a shrug, "Your interest in this matter speaks well of you. Follow me through the hall of memoirs."

    Clipped and cleanly cut words as always, Arctikus did not take offence and fell in at the queens side.

    Nerubian queens were quite fascinating in a way. Their bodies larger than even Spider Lords, but not nearly so heavy, and their posture placed them somewhere between that of a Spider Lords and a Vizier. Stretching out forward but also up, with a long, but sturdy body trailing behind. Nezar'Azret's carapace was a lovely blend of bright teals with subtle purple ornamentations, marking a dark black frame.

    "Look upon this creation of Azor'Yuz," the queen intoned.

    Sitting on a raised pedestal was a strangely shaped strip of steel shaped akin to a diamond or star, lined with runes and... Crevices?

    "Not with only eyes, you mind, welcome its history," Intoned Nezar'Azret with a slow and methodical clicking.

    Slowing her breathing and quieting her mind, Arcitkue tried to picture holding the item, feelings its grooves, so familiar now, as it clicked and whirred, akin to a pattern as new layers were unveiled and interlocked...

    "A puzzle... Diamond, such intense complexity," She intoned, trying to recollect the manner in which it unfolded and reformed so neatly.

    Nezar'Azret clicked her pincers and ducked her head, "A master work of my chorus's creation. Interplaying the desire to take apart and understand with rigid structure and intellectual challenges."

    Arctikus nodded sagely as their tour pressed on down the hall, where artifacts and finished experiments were held on display, but they were not akin to trophies, not really. Nerubian iconography lined the walls as similar art might a troll Ziggurat and she mused on the name as they approached an intricately woven silk structure.

    "It is a delight to see Nerubian art, I am humbled you would share this with me and mine," she said gently, trying to ensure her genuine interest and sincerity radiated into the ether.

    Nezar'Azret clicked intensely, head bobbing as she spoke, "Art is the pinnacle of wise civilizations. Only a successful people can create it and truly appreciate its beauty. The skillful blending of different materials into ordered structure to convey ideas. It is the ultimate form of self expression."

    Arctikus recalled humble cave painting, drawn so that when light shone they looked to be moving, ice sculptures that melted but were beloved, and the lovingly tended to linens that became patchwork.

    She did not speak any of this, tried not to even think it as even as Nezar'Azret's gaze flickered to her, a rare thing among Nerubians.

    Smiling, she answered the unspoken question, "This insight into your culture is truly welcome, honored hostess."

    A faint clicking was her answer, maybe akin to laughter or thought, but Nezar'Azret continued, "Even as the Scourge pressed in on us, we created art. We would not let our glory be forgotten. As a queen, I admire seeing that perseverance in others."

    Swallowing, Arctikus ducked her head in thanks but could not answer before Nezar'Azret pressed on almost excitedly.

    "Before you, witness the poem of Webspinner Zanagara..."

    Icemist_Village was a pleasant place, if crowded, Ragelcaw had often found.

    Built on an island in an alcove beneath mountains where the water flowed thanks to eternally boiling hot springs that ensured steaming water flowed down great waterfalls, making a moat.

    The burgeoning city was a place of bronze wood, dark leather and white bones; with carved eagles of the city's patron watching over all. Every inch of space used, with buildings stacked atop one another so much it felt bursting at the seams.

    Yet for all that, it never felt hectic, the Taunka, an intense and hardy people, carried themselves through the crowds with nary a raised voice. The mood was not celebratory, but it was quietly jubilant, a sense of ease and relief, the Wolvar could sense even within the Icemist hall.

    It was a large long house, with a grand doorway at its heart that let one stare out across the village. Several stories high, each layer was lined with treated wood and decorated in everything from leathers, to beads and more.

    At Rageclaw's side, Elder Shaman Moky, bedecked in their finest robe and several ornaments gained as gifts from Taunka. They took a lap of their tea, looking across the low table to meet the gaze of their honored hosts, asking, "There will be no mourning?"

    The question was for, Tundra_Coldhoof, Grand Elder of the Icemist Tribe who ruled all the tribes in fact if not in name. She cut an imposing figure, with her long horns, mammoth leather robes and a dark, dire wolf at her side, but her expression was serene as she answered.

    "The dead have been mourned and the disrespect to their resting place avenged," She ducked her head, "You have done us a great service by returning our stolen ancestors."

    Rageclaw bowed their own head, "There is respect for the dead, and Icemist have long been friends." Convincing Malakk to find and bring back as many dead Taunka as possible had been simple, getting the weary Drakkari soldiers to agree, much harder. Rageclaw was glad it paid off.

    Roanauk_Icemist, chief of the Icemist tribe, mightiest of the Taunka who ruled all the tribes in fact if not in name. He was a great, hulking figure, with silver fur and dark leathers, braided beard hanging down to the middle of his chest.

    Deep tones rumbling, the Taunka spoke, "May our bonds over the firelight echo down to our descendants long after we are gone."

    Recognizing the saying Rageclaw flicked out their tongue happily, "So long as our words do not break and our labors lay a strong foundation, they shall."

    The Taunka pair looked pleased, and Tundra nodded, placing down her steaming bowl of tea. "Words well said, dear friend, which has us speak this question."

    Taking the set up, Roanauk continued, "Our ancestors tell us war is coming, one not against the Cold One or the Old One, but the blood of Skorn, the Vyrkul."

    Rageclaw was probably more surprised than Moky who merely looked intrigued, glancing to them for guidance. Placing down their own saucer, Rageclaw's claws thrummed across leather pants as they spoke.

    "Wise ancestors speak truth. Frost King Malakk's boon companion, sent in open ceremony and respect to offer terms of peace for wounded cousins was captured and killed."

    Tundra snorted, "No respect, so alike to their ancestors, even the Easterlings have more sense."

    Rageclaw could not say, no Wolvar history they had ever heard stretched far back enough to remember the Vyrkul at their peak. But diplomacy and trade involved much agreement, "You speak with wisdom, always. But this friend must then ask, do Icemist fear for Drakkari in this war?"

    Roanauk huffed, "Ask this of me a season ago and I would say no, now though..." He glanced outside to where the great pyres were being readied. "Now we think our people should know this Frost King of yours."

    Moky gasped, "You mean?" Before catching themselves, which left Rageclaw enough time to rally and duck their head, "This one is honored to introduce the Icemist's Speaker to Frost King Malakk, warmth will welcome them."

    Tundra smiled gently, "This is good, before you leave with them , they would wish to speak with you of customs and manners."

    "The Rageclaw will always assist," Ragelcaw offered gamely, tail wagging excitedly.

    "This war," Moky said quietly, "Do your ancestors tell of it?"

    Tundra tilted her head, "Have yours not?"

    Moky clicked their fangs, "Rageclaw ancestors distant, quiet, always so."

    Something in Tundra looked speculative at that but she shook her head in quiet acceptance, looking to Roanauk who spoke up with deep assuredness.

    "They tell us this war shall change the world, and that your empire must fight well and prepare well for all that is to come."

    Rageclaw lifted their saucer and clinked it against their drinking fellows answering.

    "May we do just that."
    ________________________________
    NOTES:
    Thanks for reading, I hope it was fun, if you have any questions, comments or feedback please feel free to share them :D

    Rohk'aka is the trolls name for the Eastern Kingdoms, it basically means 'Worlds Daughter', in reference to it having been part of Kalimdor.

    Fun aside, but this entire chapter was written only recently, as when gong through the next chapter I realized things moved too fast and I wanted to explore what I'd done here more and better set the stage.

    Hooktusk's application took inspiration from a scene from the old Spiderman 2000 cartoon and was also me basically putting Malakk against someone who uses his own campaign technique of "I am already the one in charge, you just haven't realized it yet".

    As noted before, Travelogue inspired a lot of my takes on Nerubians, I hope my own spin on these ideas worked, the concept of Nerubians liking art enthralls me. I am so glad the idea of trade was suggested as its letting me give the Nerubians a little more exposure; while also getting the chance to give the Frostmane a touch more focus, especially on their culture.

    I also decided that each of the lieutenants we see speak represent different ways one gets into piracy. Hooktusk was born into it, Sizzle is someone who found liberation from it, Jin'Ha is basically a privateer as he didn't want to give up the war, while Gaz is someone who is out of other options.

    The Wolvar seen cheering on ships and fishing are not part of the Empire, they just lived in the area and basically got paid t let the Drakkari use it as they mostly keep to their island.

    Also just to note, teleportation will not be a major part of the war effort, IE porting in thousands of troops or the like. This is still WC3 era, which means teleportation is one of two things. A, a very ritualized process with specific link locations between two places with magic, or B, something extremely skilled and powerful individuals can do for themselves within a reasonable distance, IE Jaina and Antonidas.
     
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    • Why I write trolls the way I do
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    • I have added this as a note to the first chapter at an SB users recommendation but here is a post:

    Why I write trolls the way I do, thanks to @backgroundnoise for suggesting this:

    First and foremost, there is the matter of world building:

    I tend to take the canon of the games and the world building from Blizzard with a grain of salt, both thanks to how often its retconned and how little thought seem to go into it.

    To tender a none troll example, one RPG book said Harpies exclusively reproduce by hunting down other sentient species an raping them, while another said they basically just lay eggs with no external input. The former is, even ignoring the morality issue, a farcical way for a species to reproduce, hunting sentient being, keeping them around long enough for that and avoiding the constant and never ending reprisal such acts would bring about? They'd be dead in less than a generation, its simply not sustainable. Thus I ignore it and adjust it into something I deem realistic. IE, Harpies 'can' reproduce with other species and get a harpy from the end result but its not the norm or standard or necessarily that common.

    Similarly, the idea that trolls or the Loa are utterly reliant on cannibalisms or constant blood sacrifices is functional unsustainable on any major level; so logically most sacrifices need to be more attainable stuff like animal hearts or craft works or a troll cutting their hand and bleeding (Which was actually a common blood sacrifice in many cultures associated with the practice)


    Next stage there is the general portrayal and unfortunate implications:

    On a real world level many of the societies the trolls utilized the aesthetic and trappings of were victims of intense colonialism and while we know there was truth to say, stories of human sacrifice, we also know they were drastically exaggerated, while any and all other 'civilized' or 'advanced' aspects (Many of which eclipsed anything the invaders had seen even in their own country) to the societies were downplayed in order to justify raping, pillaging and enslaving the people.

    In the same vein, trolls and other mobs are always hostile for gameplay purposes and their cultures are exaggeration version of already exaggerated ideas of cultures that were created as propaganda, with roots deeply intertwined with racism and colonialism. As a result, I tend to be wary of taking stuff created with such foundations too seriously beyond the barest requirements.


    Then there's the 'need' for war, which often comes up but fails to be justified in the text.

    As mentioned above and elsewhere, the writers don't often think about the implications of their own writing or reflect on the logical realities of their ideas and creation.

    An easy example is the fact Gnolls & Kobolds were described as 'threats humanity had to overcome to claim Lordaeron'; the writers clearly intended us to see the Gnolls and Kobolds as hostile invaders that needed a good killing. Except, the writing doesn't indicate they showed up and tried to claim the same land as the humans, it implies there were already there and humans were driving 'them' out.

    This kind of stuff happens a lot with trolls, from the dwarves invasion of the Frostmane's kingdom, to Arathor forming in response to the unity of the troll empires, without any real groundwork laid for 'why' this was necessary. The writers didn't bother indicating that the Frostmane attacked the Dwarves, or that Forest Trolls raided humans, the simple fact they existed was deemed justification enough for the humans and Dwarves to kill them and take their stuff.

    Some modern examples of this include stuff like Kobolds moving into a mine the Dwarves have already abandoned but the Dwarves sending you in to murder and mutilate them (He wans their ears) just because. One of the most blatant examples was an old quest in Durotar where-in you have an orc whine about Kul'Tiras humans showing no respect for diplomacy by building a fort on 'orc land' and sending you to fight them. Followed by by whining about how the Quillboar who long predated the Horde had their lands taken by Orcs but haven't yet been entirely driven out and sending you to burn their villages down.

    No effort is made to justify the war against them, because they are mobs and thus not people, but that leaves readers with essentially big blank spots that allowed for world building. One can assume that these species are all inherently stupid and evil and unwilling to engage in diplomacy no matter how bad things get... Or one can try to inject some nuance into the situation.


    Finally we hit on the Drakkari specifically:

    Once again we hit on writers not really thinking through the implications of their work, some examples with the Drakkari include:
    1. Describing them as 'stupid' and 'savage', the latter already being a loaded term, but even discounting that the Drakkari have built a literally city sized country made up of four tiers in one of the most hostile places on the planet. Elaborate cities stretching across miles and miles of land and somehow massive farms dwarfing anything we see in the games.
    2. Or for example, the arena, where rather than the fighters being slave, the none trolls are explicitly described as being paid for their work and having come their willingly, with multiple species being in the audience.
    3. We also see the Drakkari engineer weapons compared in terms of potential threat to the Scourge and have it revealed they were working on a cure to the plague and see the Scourge was only able to get by their defenses thanks to multiple high level figures engaging in treason and even that didn't stop the Drakkari from driving them out.
    4. What's more we know that the Rageclaw Wolvar, a pack that specifically talks a great deal about trade, straight up lived in Zul'Drak and seemed to get along with the trolls famously. (This also means they can't be an enthostate)
    There's more obviously, but these details alone indicated a society that has a very advanced understanding of construction, farming and magic, as well as stuff like disease management, diplomacy and trade, that if one wants to expand on can create a truly multifaceted society over just a place to kill trolls for gold and magic items.


    Cultural dissonance:

    For example, in my eyes I don't really distinguish between executing a thief or enemy soldiers with sacrificing them, because the result is the same, only the cultural trappings and the, haha, means of execution might differ. But if one places beheads a criminal for theft and another place sacrifices someone via beheading for theft, to me they're functionally the same thing.

    We see this a lot when comparing say, Alexander the Great, with the founders of say, the Aztecs or a Mongol leader, all oversaw tons of executions of captured soldiers on horrific scales, but only some are remembered for just that over their various conquests framed in heroic lights and the like. (Note and as an example, there was an island that resisted Alexander for like a year, once he got in he basically had everyone executed or enslaved out of spite)

    This applies to the various cultures in WOW as well, for example there's a lot of quests that involve us using sentient creatures as ingredients, or for a more grounded example we see city's have gallows or see executions happen in stories. and of course we can and do skin stuff like dragons and Furbolgs.

    A good story example would be how in the Tides of Darkness novel we're meant to hate Zul'jin for collecting elf ears, but there's literally a quest where we collect Kobold ears just cos they took over a mine the Dwarves had already left. Neither is a good thing obviously, but only one of them is framed as villainous. This might be straying into more of a case of 'what measure is none human' though.


    Some notes on stuff I couldn't address specifically:

    Hunters:
    While I cast no shade on the hunter gatherer societal model, I feel its integral to keep in mind when discussing trolls, their histories are specifically rooted in having built massive, continent spanning empires. Those don't function without advanced bureaucracies, farming and infrastructure.

    Slavery:
    Interestingly, the world building in Chronicles said that the trolls looked down on the Mogu for using slavery, but also had the Zandalari later engage in the practice. I have taken that to mean that a common troll cultural custom treats slavery as a vile crime and that engaging in it is usuaully a sign of societal decline. NOTE: Though in contrast, stuff like torture or murder aren't viewed so negatively due to regeneration and the ability to commune with ancestors meaning death isn't seen as being 'as' big of a deal provided one handles it honorably.

    Sympathy:
    This is more trivia, but the first bit of world building we got about trolls was in Warcraft 2 and while long since retconned, it was extremely sympathetic. WIth Zul'jin having united his scattered people and aligned with the Horde solely because he feared the Alliance would enact a genocide against them when done with the Orcs, and the manual straight up says they have "suffered ages of attrition at the hands of the Humans, Dwarves, and Elves." So even in the most black and white version of the game, the trolls were initially framed as sympathetic.

    The Loa:
    The idea that the Loa are blood hungry gods is one that bounces around constantly. In the RPG they are often described as such, but they also didn't protest the Darkspear starting to offer them animals and plants in place of people. What's more, they actively loath Hakkar who go for sacrifices constantly, and on a practical level large scale sacrifice or cannibalism of people is not sustainable, especially not when many of the societies are incredibly weakened. As it is, in the games themselves their portrayals still vary but tend to be more benign and the Drakkari I confess I never saw as particularly devout given their response to the Loa failing to solve the Scourge invasion was to kill them and steal their power.


    Conclusion:
    As a result of the unfortunate implications informing a lot of world building around the trolls (And other mobs to lesser degrees).

    The inconsistent world building that bounces around in terms of how negatively it frames them, as well as the impracticalities of the implied societal structures.

    Combined with the vast voids left in the world building, left there because the creators didn't think violence against mobs didn't need justifying, or being rooted in the gameplay mechanics over anything realistic.

    And finally, the established details of the civilization as we saw it even in a state of collapse and the implications there-of.

    Leads me to write trolls the way I do.
     
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 1 - The Storm of Strife Stirs
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 1 - The Storm of Strife Stirs​
    As Malakk promised, the trial period had been mercifully brief, but it had taught Hooktusk much about her new monarch.

    Namely, that he was sharper than the rumors of a hide bound warrior king would imply; oh, he may keep his word whatever it be, but he was evidently careful about his choice of said words.

    That fact had been proven in their trials, everything from guiding small and large ships through conjured obstacle courses and storms, to commanding fleets in faux battles. All of the Scenarios were weighted against them, but not as she'd expected.

    Rather than commanding her own crew, the Frost King had taken her boasts of trusting them with command seriously and pit them against each other and above all, herself.

    What was more, she was always held back until the end or kept in ignorance until her turn came. All so that her crew might perform at their best and deny her any advantages like them believably throwing a trial or letting her chart their course.

    It was more than a little insulting, she felt, they were pirates after all, and incompetence didn't survive long on the open seas with weapons always handy. But it had forced her to take inexperienced Drakkari sailors, a new crew, as well as advisory staff each time, and use what little time she had to adapt, train and compensate for their failing and exemplify their strengths.

    They had at least been largely obedient, she'd found, but it had not made the three weeks of trial any less exhausting. And for all that inexperience, they were an educated bunch, well-schooled in strategy from Amani tutors and viciously efficient be it in duels or on strategy maps…

    But their rigid war doctrines and novice nature betrayed them, sailors needed to think on the fly, cut tethers and make a million little decisions for themselves every day, that even the scrappiest raider did not. Only her greater experience allowed Hooktusk to eclipse even her first mate in matters of strategy and tact with crews like that.

    What was more, Drakkari opening gambits were always strong, but they struggled to adapt. Meanwhile her own crew were not used to commanding anything more than a few ships at most, giving her a decided advantage in mass combat.

    It had not been easy, but as promised, she was victorious.

    Now, here she stood upon a freshy built ziggurat that sat upon the shoreline, ocean water filtering through sharply cut pathways and a half-submerged monument to Gral in its heart.

    The Loa bristled with pride at its new residence, calling young shark pups and beloved mates into the monumentally sized temple they now called home.

    Hooktusk herself had new garments, crafted in her old style of well know human and goblin privateers, but woven in with thick furs and Drakkari colors.

    Turning from the top-most peak of her temple and its shining Saronite adorned gong shaped in the visage of herself roaring, she looked upon the Great Bite and smirked at the sight of her fleet.

    Heart stirring and fangs flashing, only one thought ran through her mind.

    'This is going to be fun.'

    With time's passing came the need to finally say goodbye, and thus it was only right that when the Amani shipwrights left, their hosts made a day of it.

    Malakk himself travelled down to Howling Fjord to look upon their completed works, accompanied by his advisors, Chief Rageclaw and Navarch Hooktusk among them.

    To say that the Great Bite had undergone changes would be an understatement.

    Once decaying Vyrkul structures had been claimed and converted into fortified watch posts that aimed spear launchers and newly minted cannons at any who might seek to invade the land.

    While the non-draconic residents of Utgarde Keep remained in their frozen slumber the town sized tower had been turned into a home for the workers and Wave Riders, with guest quarters laid out for the local Tuskarr and Wolvar, as well as the honored Amani, respectively.

    Running along the coast and built into the mountainous walls that jutted up from the ocean were mighty piers, so large that five Drakkari could walk side by from one end to the other. Moored at the docks however was not the Drakkari Fleet which instead floated in the oceans, holding a loose parade formation, but instead the new and improved Amani transports. Sleek, sharp angled wood now adorned with reinforcement from iron trees and topped with a Saronite troll head atop the captain's quarters.

    Otembe and his cohorts were boarding the final Amani vessel, draped in thick furred coats decorated with enchanted trinkets. The purple haired crafter was the last to board, clasping arms with the Frost King as they exchanged goodbyes to the chorus of celebration and waving.

    "You have done more for us than I can put into words, Otembe, give your emperor my highest regards and know the Amani will always be welcome among the Drakkari."

    Otembe bowed his head, "You have been a most resplendent host, may this alliance between our tribes last generations, noble Frost King."

    Malakk grinned and added, "I must thank you again then, for your kind words, and I hope the extra passengers will be no burden and you will show them around."

    Otembe chuckled, "No trouble at all, they shall know our lands like the back of their hands before long."

    Releasing one another Malakk stood back to watched as the ships rolled out of the newly dubbed Mal'Drak Harbor, Amani shipwrights waving from atop the deck as they went, to the cheers of Drakkari, Wolvar and Tuskarr alike. Conjured winds and Loa's blessing fueling the vessels motions as it quickly faded into the mist.

    The rest of the day was spent cavorting, Malakk and Chief Rageclaw made time to speak with every visiting Tuskarr chief, giving special attention to those who had rendered their services.

    Builders and Wave Riders danced to traditional and foreign songs let loose by Hooktusk and her crews' band, dancing wildly as others tried to sing along.

    Hookah smoke filled the air, along with the scent of strong wines, naturally followed by fierce fights to the cheers of onlooker, while a grand offering to Gral stained the temple waters red.

    Finally, as the darkness of night rolled in, fuses were lit and the sky was splashed with an array of crackling, sparkling colors to the oohs and aaahs of the crowd.

    Malakk watched the skies painted with fire, a stirring in his heart, 'Soon,' he swore, claws digging into his palms, staining his nails with blood, 'Soon Malaka'raz, you will have justice.'

    Some days later, across the sea, an odd sight would be seen by those there to witness it, but in such places, no unwanted mortal eyes roamed.

    The Whispering_Forest was discordantly quiet, strangely humid and cold at the same time. Overgrowth coated the ground, large mushrooms that pulsed with no light grew around trees that had not known a mortal's touch in generations, standing so tall as to cast everything in a bleak shadow.

    "Welcome you your new home, Drakkari and guests, I don't envy ya," touted the heavily armored Krag'jin, chieftain of the Shadowglen to the South in Silverpine.

    Quetz'Lith longed for the formalities to be over with, but bowed quickly. "We thank you for your guidance in this matter, and of course to our noble escort as well," she said, nodding towards the leader of Zul'jin Sky Riders, Sky Sovereign Akil'Gon.

    The bulky woman bowing and brushing her fiery braids back, answered, "It was a small price, but is this place safe? My instincts screech at me."

    "A Forgotten One sleeps beneath this land, we should not stay here," Seer_Drannix rattled.

    Krag'jin scratched his cheek, "My village could hold most of ya, save the dragons at least…"

    "Thank you, chieftain, but we need stay to guard our mounts and cannot risk being seen; a dead Old One is but a hindrance."

    The leader of the Nerubian's warrior contingent, Anok'suten, hissed, "You Drakkari toy with powers not your own without a care. The Forgotten One's cannot be ignored."

    "Look at me agreeing with you spider friends," Akil'Gon chuckled nervously, one hand running gently through her giant eagles feathers as it whined.

    "We have Word Priests, Wards and the Blessings of the Loa," Quetz'Lith countered sternly. "Should this land prove too much for us, we shall have plenty of warning, but for now I refuse to risk exposure because of a dead monster," Quetz'Lith said, patting her mounts head as it rasped and licked its chops.

    "Saronite is a danger, little Drakkari," Drannix argued.

    "Everyone in Northrend uses it," she answered.

    "The Furbolg do not, or the Tuskarr," Anok'Suten said, siding with the Seer.

    "The Tuskar live nowhere near deposits and the Furbolg are boring," Quetz'Lith answered cheerfully, before sSashing her hand through the air. "I will not broke further debate. The Old One's powers are dangerous but known to us, we are soldiers, and will not shuffle and hide from this unless we've no other choice."

    Drannix glared at her for a time before nodding, "Very well, we shall seek out where it sleeps to better wards against it."

    "Does that mean there's a building we can sleep in?" A Sky Rider piped up, looking unhappily at the forest.

    "We will not be sleeping besides an Old One!" Drannix rasped, before blinking, "I believe I sense a human presence…"

    Krag'jin blinked owlishly, "Odd, they usually avoid this place like it's plagued, but I suppose some do wonder up, no one rules it and well," he tapped his head. "One's vulnerable to strange whispers would come here first."

    Quetz'Lith looked to her and the Amani scouts, "Find them, we will tend to the drakes."

    Drannix waved at Anok'Suten, "Go with the trolls, leave no trace of us."

    "Well, if that is decided, I best be getting back home, even on turtle back it is a long trip and I'd not want to miss the finest fishing hours," Kragjin said.

    "I had best begin my flight back to Zul'Aman as well, to inform my Warlord of our success," Akil'gon added, striding towards her wing-mates and their resting Dragonhawks.

    "You are both welcome to stay the night, and our camp shall be open to you, if need be," Quetz'Lith offered with a salute.

    "Thanks, but no thanks, this place is not my type of forest, feel free to swing by during the solstice though," Krag'jin said before disappearing into the tree line.

    Akil'Gon bowed, "We thank you for your offer, but duty calls to use as surely as the winds. Those scouts we leave you shall serve well and we wish your empire good tidings in what is to come."

    With that, the Amani Sky Riders took to their mounts and vanished into the tree line.

    Humming and cracking her neck, Quetz'Lith waved to her gathered forces, "Come, come, let us begin arranging the rituals that our drakes do not devour the mountain before our wait is over."

    Bonechiller Barafu strode by her, "I shall see to yours personally," she offered.

    Quetz'Lith's hand brushed the smaller troll's necklace as she whispered, "You did not need to be here mistress of the cold, but I am 'very' glad you are."

    Barafu gently traced a finger down her chin and over her chest and said, "I wanted to keep you company~" Before sauntering off, Quetz'Lith watching her like a dragon did their next meal.

    "Well… I would not protest that," she chuckled, trailing after the dark-haired troll, her mount huffing irritably behind her, scaled nose nudging under her hand for pets, "Sorry, sorry," she chuckled as their forces marched deeper into the woods.

    'This is going to be a long mission,' She thought, but her gaze was locked on Barafu's swaying robes as she smirked, 'But at least the view is good.'

    A new energy suffused the air in Zul'Drak, it bled into the rumbling earth and painted clear skies an array of colors that stirred the heart and mind.

    Across the fields and streets where petty gods and idols purified the lands, the air and waters, their stone jaws unhinged to belt out a dirge, eyes alight with power.

    Throughout the nation not a soul toiled in the mines, tended the fields, or watched over the herds, all left to linger in sleep as residents resided in their compounds, apartments, and temple towns.

    Acolytes, priests, and blessed champions gathered at temples with offerings raised high, not one god or Loa was forgotten and through the sacrifice they let loose crackling bolts of divine might, linking one temple to the next in a network that spanned the nation.

    Gathered on the highest tier were legions and legions of Drakkari soldiers, each at attention as they looked towards the towering temple city of Gundrak that loomed like a mountain. The crystals adorning it highest points rang out with divine energy as a chant began to echo and boom, soon wafting over the soldiers who struck their chests in salute.

    Upon the great steps that stood before Gundrak gathered the Prophets, not a one was missed, each chanting their prayers with a divine fervor. Their eyes shining as they joined the web of power weaving its way across Zul'Drak, guiding, and controlling its storm as their deity's cries echoed across the land. They did not face the soldiers though, for they too were subjects to the one that stood upon the dais that rose above them all at the maw of Gundrak.

    Frost King Malakk.

    Winds that were once a storm now bound to his will weaved around the kings frame, the elementals energies rising high and divine gifts were laid upon his shoulders, suffocating him for but a moment in the heady magics of gods.

    Striking his chest with each hand, Malakk threw his head back, jaw unhinging and fangs bared as he let loose a roar that ripped through the air and shook the skies, voice booming across every stone and street across the empire.

    The nation quaked as his war cry was answered by every Loa and soul across Zul'Drak.

    The War, had finally begun.
    __________________________________________
    Notes:
    And thus we begin, the actual premise for the whole story and it only took us like 13 chapters XD

    Anyway, I considered making some of this part of the previous interlude, but I felt that made it feel too rushed, while the chapter break would help emphasize the time skip. It would have been nice to explore this period more, but I also didn't have much to do in terms of overarching stuff beyond more set up.

    One thing to note about the Nerubians is that they hate Saronite, they understand it as well the Drakkari, but they refuse to utilize it for cultural and safety reasons, its similar to the NE's attitude towards Arcane Magic.

    Also I love working in minor tribes, (Waves at the Shadowglen) Hi :)
     
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 2 - The First Strike
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 2 - The First Strike​

    Lana whispered a gentle prayer to the light, her staff thrumming with the force of her faith and pressing out against the dark mists that cloaked the ship, signaling all aboard of her presence on the deck.

    The wood was slick and rang with a displeasing sound at each stride as she used her staff to stay stable; the man behind her moving silently, as though he was part snake.

    "Ah, welcome back, priestess. Bring our Tidesage?" Asked captain Gyram, whose face she could barely make out save for a vague outline next to the ships mast.

    "I am here captain, and with me is the Tidemother," answered the robed man behind her. She could not see him, but she recalls his long beard, flowing blue robes adorned with seashells and a bonnet that resemble a squid.

    "Can you deal with this damnable fog then?" Asked Gyram, knocking at the mast.

    "Most assuredly, but did my fine Lordonian hosts not insist the light and mages would be sufficient?" the man asked with infuriating smugness.

    "Captain we do not need this man," Lana hissed, "Trusting our lives to this idolatrous faith is more a danger than the mist."

    Merander scoffed, "You needn't hide your wounded pride with anger, priestess, it is not your failing that the light cannot escape the depths of the ocean

    Lana's grip on her staff tightened as she glared balefully over her shoulder.

    "Enough you swabs! This is a ship, and I am captain; my job isn't to manage your petty disputes but to ensure we guard the oceans and keep Alliance territories safe." Lana could not see it, but she could practically hear the captain's frown as he added, "The mage said this mist was magical and nothing we do can banishes it, do you think it's those sea witches I've been hearing about?"

    Merander's robes flourished as he seemingly… shrugged?

    "It could be, they know the magic of the oceans well, but they are not as blessed as you to have me with here. Watch as I strip back the mists and ensure us a safe passage. All glory to the Tidemother, endless is her grace and bounty!"

    The Tidesage sat upon the deck and began to chant and pray; shadowy hands that came to look like tentacles in the mist waving wildly as human tongue faded into something infinitely more guttural and vile.

    "I know ya don't like it priestess, but we gotta focus on our job here," Gyram whispered.

    "Are you trying to convince me or yourself, captain?" Lana asked the much younger soul.

    A weak chuckle escaped him before Merander's rambling cut through.

    "Behold the Tidemothers glory!"

    There was a loud clap and the mist smothering them writhed and roiled as it began to violently part, a barrier forming around them and finally allowing Lana's stave to alight the deck.

    "Finally, some blessed freedom!" Someone on the crew bellowed.

    Gyram flicked his black ponytail over his shoulder and clapped Merander on the shoulder, "Good work- You're shaking…"

    Merander's voice came out shuddering, haltingly slow. "I- Invaders! A fleet comes, singing of shadows and beasts!" He flung himself to his feet, "We have to escape, have to- have to blockade the coast They're coming- aaah!"

    The ship rocked and a low, guttural roar struck Lana's ears.

    "Shark, giant sharks!" Bellowed the crow's nest, as water splashed on deck as mighty sharks burst from the water snapping their jaws as other thumped against the hull.

    "Dammit all," Gyram spat, "Merander, help turn us around, gunners shoot those blast things off of us, and magus, we need a sending spell now!"

    "Captain look!" The crow's nest shrieked.

    Lana looked towards the north and her eyes flew wide as a looming shadows' approaching fast were outlined against the mist. The sharks snapping only grew more incensed, even as gunners let loose bolts of steel into their waiting maws.

    "They're coming! Trolls, an army of them, we have to run!" Merander shrieked.

    "I'll be damned if I abandoned post, cannoneers, send these savages to a watery grave!" Gyram ordered.

    Roars of "Aye aye captain!" filled the air as the shadow grew and the mist parted entirely as if pushed along by the vessels only now bursting into reality.

    "By the light…" Lana whispered. In days gone by, she had stood at Hillsbrad to fight the Horde fleet, yet even their vessels paled in comparison to what was surging towards them now.

    Bursting free from the sea mists came boxy troops carriers, pushed along by enchanted leather canvases, and equipped with metals to ram through enemy vessels, each almost as big as her own ship.

    The troop carriers sailed between even the larger ships, monstrously wide, longer than they were tall some, long curves and sharp angle designed to rip and tear through enemy ships. Somehow, they sailed with nary a sail in sight, instead the water churning at their backs like some Gnomish machine.

    Their numbers only grew and grew in number filling the horizon.

    But what trailed behind them were worse.

    Monstrous vessels of black and dark blue created surging waves with their passage, adorned with dark spikes, lined with spears and hulking cannons, their size defied reason! Five tiers tall, larger even than the Ogre Juggernauts; the enormous bows were adorned by cackling troll heads with giant tusks coated in a strange metal of swirling shadows and emerald.

    The largest surged ahead, towering over the other ships as an adult might a child; it was completely coated in a layer of steel that hurt to look upon, glowing sigils pulsing a crystalline green as it cut through the water as the sharks departed.

    'How, how did so many come so close!' Weren't the elves watching the border? What of the scrying spells?

    "It's the mist, it cloaked more than just their ships," Merander murmured eyes wide as if experiencing a vision.

    "Come on man, pull yourself together!" She snapped.

    "Cannoneers, fire! Show them Lordaeron's fury!" Gyram bellowed, his own threats drowned out by the roar of cannon fire. Black metal orbs soared through the air too fast to follow!

    Only to crash against the ship and rebound, as if launched back at them by invisible hands!

    Lana slashed her stave on instinct and watched a returning ball shatter against its might. She joined the mages in letting loose bursts of power as one of the tusks approached the heart of their ship only to see their magic flicker and fade while her own holy spells rebounded with a fiery vengeance.

    "What are these monsters!?"

    The roaring winds and rising waves filled Lana's ears as the attacking giant washed over them like a tidal wave, but she still heard the Merander's last whisper.

    "Our doom."

    Hooktusk looked down from the bow of 'Malakk's Might' and grinned as a once ferocious Alliance frigate was caught upon them.

    A single tusk tore through the vessel, drawing shouts and howls of shock and fright as the ship's defenses were sundered and its frame torn like paper.

    With an explosion of force, the ship splintered and shattered, its crew subsumed in a sea of shrapnel and writhing water.

    As her crew cheered, Hooktusk cackled, slapping her leg wither hat as she sauntered back to Malakk who sat on a mobile throne a little way away from the captain's quarters.

    "The tusks worked wonders then I take it?" He asked, eyes focused on the horizon and his tone flat.

    "Like shooting fish in a barrel!" She pattered her belt, "Gral's children will eat well tonight."

    The Frost King hummed noncommittally at that as he rose to his feet, "This is good, I do not want Lordaeron to have time to call for its allies before we seize the coast."

    "This mist is paying dividends, but," Hooktusk gestured towards the bat riders milling around on deck, awaiting orders, "You still sure this is a good idea if we're going for surprise?"

    Malakk nodded, "I don't want them to have the time to call allies, but if they know an attack is coming maybe an hour before we arrive, they will be waiting for us, no surprise but also no one in our way, just warriors clashing as war should be."

    "Such an optimist," She chuckled, before bellowing, "Full speed ahead, let's see what else we can hook!"

    "Hail Navarch!" the crew roared.

    She was drawn from her reverie and enjoyment in the title by Malakk tapping her shoulder, "Also, tell me, why would one shoot fish in a barrel?"

    The chilly winter air permeated the cliffside watch tower leaving Derrick blowing into his hands and jogging in place, light armor clanking in irritating the watch towers sole half elven resident greatly.

    Haledon Runecloth felt the steps squeak beneath his stride as he marched to the top of the tower and at the relieved sigh of his comrade rolled his eyes.

    "Here," he said, holding out his hand and thinking of the flickering flame of a candle and heat, calling forth a small fire into his palm, "Now stop making a racket and do your job."

    "Haha, sorry Haledon, this winter is just miserable though," Derrick answered jovially, holding his hands at the flames, and idly glancing over the battlements. "Besides there isn't much to see with this fog."

    "Is the enchanted lens not working?" He asked, squinting at the Gnomish import that sat on a swivel at the center of the towers top.

    "I see some things, but not much, the fogs too thick, this happened last winter too," Derrick answered disinterestedly, even as he leaned down and squinted. "Hmm, yes, still a whole lotta smog, its rolling in quick though!"

    Haledon frowned, taking the flame away as he approached the battlements, "That mist... Is not natural- urk!"

    "Down!" Derrick's roared, yanking on the hem of his robes and lunging them down the steps as a glowing green and black spear struck the roof.

    "The Wards!?" Haldeon shouted, confusion wracking his brain as they tumbled into the ground floor in time to see a glowing red and yellow bottle hit the steps, hissing, and shaking.

    "Bomb!"

    A wave of fire washed over the tower, coating the walls, and roaring towards the gun powder.

    In the skies above, Zim'Ro watched as the gunpower blasted through the walls of the tower and the white stone began tumbling down upon any survivors.

    Tugging on the chain binding he and his spear together, he yanked it to his side and a moment later both he and his bat disappeared down the side of the mountains, their job done.

    Back at the tower, rubble crackle and stirred as arcane energies flickered and with a final roar a duo of guard hefted the rubble off their bruised but living frames, Haledon draped over a shoulder each.

    "Haledon, you good?" Derrick asked, as the captain passed the magus over to him.

    "How… How did they break the wards?" He gasped.

    "Dunno, but you saved our bacon there! How'd ya do it!?"

    "Ears… Ringing…" Haledon ground out.

    The captain spoke up, "He crafted a barrier around one side of the gun powder, so most of the explosion went through the opening before it broke through and hit us." The man spat, kicking debris, "The bastards still got us though, no cannons and no mage to send word; something must be coming by sea. Derrick, you and Haledon stay here and scavenge anything of use, stay out of sight, I'll run to the monastery and inform the garrison!"

    With that he took off running.

    "Aye sir," Derrick said helping Haledon to a nearby tree, "You good?"

    "Fine, just… That took much of my will," Haledon flexed his fingers and hissed, "And some of the flames got me, I shan't be fighting fit for days with how burnt up my insides feel."

    "It's good, you got us outta there, now we can warn the monastery and let the Champions_of_Light deal with... Whatever that was, a troll I think?"

    Haledon hissed, "If it was, those animals will be taught the same lesson their ancestors were when their army was reduced to ash."

    "That's the spirit haha!"

    Gal'Darah ran a hand through his dear Baku's fur, the hulking rhino grumbling beneath his freshly fitted armor and at the rocking of the transport. Fire spears, burning bottles and cannons rang out from Malakk's Might and tore through the withdrawn ships and docks.

    "The way is clear, when we dock against the coast, we must break their ranks to give the other troops time to rally!" He bellowed.

    "Hail Grand Prophet!" his warriors answered, Baku rumbling alongside them.

    "Cannons coming!" The Watcher shouted.

    Gal'Darah had already heard the resounding boom and added his prayers to the chants of Shamans as the steel ball soared down and was rebuffed as it crashed against howling winds before a pulse of divine power shattered it into shrapnel.

    'Almost there,' he thought, drawing his spear, and leaping atop Baku's back, head low as he shouted, "Ready yourselves, for Zul'Drak, for justice, Frost King Malakk we fight!"

    A roar rose up and the Loa's will filled the ship, surging them forward in a blur, too fast for the Alliance to brace as they tore through any dock and ship remnants and came to a halting stop at the street level.

    Awaiting them were soldiers only, gun users and archers on the roofs, while warriors in plate braced with shields, mages and healers hidden behind hasty fortifications. At the head of their number was a redhead with long hair, a great hammer, and golden armor.

    'A Paladin!' He cheered as the doors began to swing open.

    "Warriors of the Alliance, drive these lightless beasts back into their hovels!" She roared.

    With a "Yip yip!" his Baku charged forward, shaking the streets, Frozen Warlords racing behind him, their sleek black armor thrumming with emerald light shining as Shamans and priests let loose bolts of ice and lightning at those on the roof's.

    A hammer of light launched towards them, but Gal'Darah was a Word Priest as much as a prophet, and thus he swung his Saronite tipped wand in his off hand shouting "Ket'Zun!" and watched as the hammer exploded back at its wielder.

    The shock alone was enough to stall the ground soldiers and Gal'Drah cheered as Baku's charge crashed against the warriors, sending the little tin fighters flying.

    "Charge until we reach the planes, let nothing bar your way!" He roared, as he tore through wooden and steel barricades.

    In the distance he could hear more ships docking, rhino and mammoth bellowing as they stampeded through the streets, soldiers flooding the land in their wake and falling upon their scattered foes.

    'We'd best reach the edge of the city soon, I have somewhere to be!' he thought, eyes locked on the distant monastery at the hilltops.

    Spear gripped tightly in his hand he slashed a leaping rogue from the air and continued his charge.

    The streets were unfamiliar, squat homes of wood rather than stone, and tiny apartments rather than towering temples or grand complexes, but the battle…

    Zil'Mon breathed in the growing scent of ash and fire, the sound of breaking and clashing weapons on shadowed streets.

    'Yes, this takes me back,' he thought, weaving around a snarling axe wielding soldier and delivering a harsh strike to the back of his head. His size and enhancements meant he could feel the metal cave beneath his strength and hear the crunch of the woman's spine as she hit the street.

    "Beast!" Roared another contender and Zil'Mon barely weaved out of the way of the spiked war hammer, grinning as he saw the golden armor and light dancing on his foe's weapon.

    "Come Paladin, let me show you how dim your light truly is!" The incensed look on his foes face, the furious anger as the light swelled and they swung the hammer down. 'The faithful are always the easiest,' he thought, smirking as the blow struck with no force as the light burst back against its master and sent them crashing to their back.

    Zil'Mon pounced, holy words spilling from his lips and making his hand glow before striking it through their armor and heart like a dagger.

    Flinging himself back to his feet, Zil'Mon waved at the corpse, "Nice try," only to freeze as a sparkling array of light burst into a person before him.

    The Gnome's hand grasped his bare tusks and they said, "You too," before slipping their free hand beneath his Saronite mask. Zil'Mon's hands flew to his face, but it was too late as fire engulfed his vision.

    With a flash, Milly Fire-Flicker blinked away from the troll in time to see his head explode, she made to call the helmet to her for study but found it gulping down her magic. As a spear embedded itself next to her head, she dropped the plan all together, racing across the tightly packed city roof's.

    'The coast is lost; at this rate we'll be forced out within an hour!' She thought, blinking out of an axe throwers sight, and turning herself invisible.

    'Maybe if the church or Agamand Family send reinforcements but… Judging by the invader's preparedness, I doubt things will be so simple!' She thought.

    Sliding between a dueling troll and dwarf, she let loose an ice dagger into the invaders leg before flinging herself out of the way of bolt of lightning and down an alleyway.

    Malakk glared down at the dull grassy fields and hissed as he saw Gal'Darah's legion and personal war band mired in a duel with knights and though they were winning…

    "We don't have time for this, Shiri, dive!" His bat shrieked and ducked a wing, his guards following close behind as Malakk's world became a blur until his mount rolled and launched him from its back.

    Axes drawn he slashed at the air, a vortex of icy winds struck the earth and sent Drakkari and Alliance alike to the ground as he bellowed, "Gal'Darah!" from upon the battle torn earth.

    "Frost King Malakk!" His Grand Prophet saluted.

    "Rally your forces and link with Slad'Ran's Legions. Take that monastery!" He barked, one eye close on the seeming leader, a mustachioed paladin who was muttering under his breath as his forces tried to rally, those that lived at least.

    Gal'Darah's eyes were wide for a moment, but turning towards the hills he ordered, "Charge, For Frost King Malakk!" and rushed over any Alliance unfortunate enough to get in his way, soldiers chanting and following in his wake.

    Turning to stare at the human he waved, "I thank you for your patience."

    The man scoffed, "This was not an indulgence troll, this was strategy, kill the warlord and the rest will be rabble. Now brothers and sisters of the Light. Rise!"

    A shining wave of sharp light washed over the crowd, wounds sealed shut and color blossomed in greyed cheeks. Malakk watched, eyes widening as the shimmering light faded and from the floor rose the fallen warriors, their wounds healed and their eyes flickering with fading gold.

    'So, it's going to be that way is it!?'

    The Paladin looked proud, the warrior's hopeful and stepping back Malakk began to chuckle, which grew into a full-blown cackle as he holsters his axes and a screeching wall of ice surrounded him just in time to stop the warrior's advance.

    "Hiding already barbarian?!" The Paladin called.

    "Just preparing," he chuckled, guards at his back, weapons at the ready.

    Throwing back a potion that swelled his frame and chilled his skin, Malakk drew the jagged, squared off blade from his back, 'I honestly didn't think I'd have to use this so soon, but Arctikus was right, I should not underestimate their power, or their cunning.'

    "Your light is fierce, its power vast, so I must bring this to the task, Zerat, the Soulburning Greatsword!"

    "Kill him!" The Paladin roared, letting lose a hammer of light.

    "Hail Ballador!" His soldiers cheered, more among them letting loose beams of golden power towards him.

    The ice shattered, streams of light surged towards Malakk and he brought Zerat up before him, turned the weapon to its side that the glowing cross-guard could face the oncoming attack and spoke the words of power.

    "Ket'Zun!"

    And with a flash the golden flames were turned back.

    Gal'Darah had joined forces with Slad'Ran's followers at the base of the mountain slopes, scooping the serpentine priests onto the back of Baku and charging up the sharply cut path, the priest hissing in his ear the entire way.

    "You lost so many in a pitched battle!?" Slad'Ran hissed.

    Gal'Darah grimaced, "We needed more raptors or bats to match their knights. The Rhino were too slow, and the Frozen Warlords can only do so much when spread so far.

    They could spare time to talk, thanks to eyes in the sky spying their enemy's defenses, the first of which their charging legion was coming upon now. Namely, a hastily stacked wall of bricks, boxes, and spears.

    "They left but a reserve force and ramshackle defense's, smash right through them!" Gal'Darah roared.

    A cheer rose from the crowd as spells were slung and barrier breaking spells layered upon Baku's horn as they crashed against the fortification and shattered it into shrapnel.

    Skidding around and digging tracks in the earth, Baku roared as it rampaged up the steps, eyeing soldiers already racing back to their temple for safety, a wise maneuver, but it would not win the day.

    Little stood in their way as they arrived upon the well-kept green grounds of the looming monastery, a respectably large structure that would remind any legionary of the temple forts in Zul'Drak. Bronze bricks and blue, gold tinges towers rose high and bearing the flag of the enemy, fluttering in the wind.

    Snakes slithered and hissed along the grass, fading from sight, or slipping into the shadows of the temples entrance, Slad'Ran wincing each time one was found or broke upon a barrier. Even still he whispered every secret they uncovered into Gal'Darah's ear as their army marshalled into regiments war-bands.

    "Warriors! Heroes of Zul'Drak!" Gal'Darah roared, "This is no simple holy site, but an enemy fort, it is here paladins are trained and housed, if we are to succeed it must fall!"

    A chant rang out, fists slamming against chests in salute.

    "I shall take the central and North Wings, Slad'Ran?"

    The Snake Priest nodded, tongue flicking out and tasting the energies in the air, "The South wing houses their scholarly texts and artifacts of power, mages too I believe, I shall capture it."

    Raising a hand high, Gal'Darah signaled and shouted, "Two thirds of the Frozen Warlords, claim ten elites each and follow me, the rest of you, guard Slad'Ran, those who remain behind fan out and secure the lands, let no one escape!"

    Chants and salutes followed, as the Priests marshalled their retinues, casters bombarded the monastery with counter spells and sabotage, stripping away its traps and defenses that their leaders might march un-harried.

    Within the halls, Paladins, knights, and priests readied for war.

    Heb'Jin let loose a bottle of flames upon the mountain paths, driving the marshalling militia forces back as his fellows harried them off the hills, scattering them and ensuring the taking of the city would not be impeded.

    'It is important work, but there is little honor or pride to be had in such an easy fight,' he thought, regretting that the North Coast had so few Sky Riders to duel with before he'd been sent to secure the Eastern Mountains.

    Patting his dear mounts head, he glanced around and shook his head. 'Still, we need to secure this spot sooner rather than later, can't have an army martially here after all,' he thought, motioning for his Wing-Mates to ascend.

    'Let us see if the peak is any better…'

    Gal'Darah had faced little resistance in his march and he could see why, upon entering the grandest chambers, hewn from marble, and painted in a rainbow of colors by tinted glass.

    Awaiting them he saw a hulking man in blue and black armor standing on a holy dais wielding an axe. Arrayed along the walls and chamber were paladins, knights, and guards alike, all bearing weapons and fine, but untested armor.

    'A welcoming committee, how thoughtful!'

    Throwing his arms wide, Gal'Drah proclaimed, "We come to this land to avenge kin killed and lands lost, throw down your arms and our king shall leave you be." He tightened his grip on his spear, runes beginning to glow, "Fight us and fall to our might!"

    The warrior scoffed, "Heathen, within this holy space you are powerless!"

    Gal'darah, Grand Prophet of Akali & Zul'Drak spoke his answer with a grin, "No. I'm the opposite of that."

    Slad'Ran frowned at the sight that greeted him in the library's mighty halls, quaking whelps and youths holding training swords, eyes wide with fright, and but a few real warriors standing before them. At the back of a chamber, in martial robes, was a bald man with a strong frame.

    The seeming leader strode forward, voice sharp and calm, "I am Bishop Korlof, invaders and if you wish to have my disciples," he fell into an unarmed fighting stance that looked to have jumped from a historic text, "You shall have to survive me!"

    Sighing, the Prophet said, "We did not come here for your fledglings, cause us no trouble as we secure this wing and be left in peace, Brother_Korloff."

    The Priest spat, "Do not presume kinship with me, heathen, you will find no surrender here, our will is iron, our light unwavering and our spirits unbreakable!"

    His escorts hissed, muscles swelled, and armor shone as they readied to defend his honor, Slad'Ran tapped his stave on the stone floor. "Your answer makes me sad, as representatives of our respective patrons and lieutenants of our faiths leader, I would have thought us on the same level."

    Golden light danced on his fists, "You and I are no more equals than the Light and your false idols are, come and face me!"

    Slad'Ran doffed off their cloak, muscles contorting and stretching as their god's energy suffused them, skin turning to scales as they hissed. "It seems your faith does not teach humility, allow my patron and I to educate you!"

    Malakk idly licked some blood from the back of his hand where a soldier had gotten in a good shot and hummed happily as it sealed up.

    Turning to face the fallen Paladin he offered the man a respectful nod, a good fight deserved some regard after all.

    'I'll have to have the bodies burnt though,' he thought.

    His ears perked at the sound of bursting fire-light and he grinned, looking upon the port city awash with the sight of fireworks crackling above the city streets.

    His smirk grew as another wave shot up from the monastery and Eastern hills, throwing back his head he cheered, his cry echoing across the plane with every other soldier stretching across the Northern Coast.

    "Victory!"

    Within the grand throne room of Lordaeron's capital, the court was locked in stunned silence.

    King Teranas looked upon the haggard scout with wide eyes and barely bit back a curse.

    Nails digging into his throne he rose and called, "Send for Uther the Lightbringer!"

    ____________________________________
    NOTES:

    North-Port is an original creation, but given what we see in some of the manga it seems Lordaeron had several ports and Arthas had to dock his ships somewhere when he got back from Northrend. So yeah, North-Port.

    One thing I also wanted to do was try and characterize both sides to some degree and make it clear al sides have people, while also demonstrating some ingrained biases, as well as both how dangerous Saronite is but also how it can be worked around. Also, eagle eye readers of Lord of the Clans may be wandering why knights were so effective, but all shall be explained in due time.

    The exchange between Slad'Ran and Korloff was inspired by a mix between a scene from Order of the Stick where two rival clerics dueled rather than let their subordinates fight and a battle from the Bleach manga/anime series. Basically, an Espada of the villain faced down a captain of the nominally heroic Gotei 13 & tried to engage with him as an equal but was rebuffed at every turn. The handling of it always kinda irked me so I changed it up here; I have no idea where I got Gal'Darah's "No. I am the opposite of that" line from but I love using it.

    Drakkari Vessels are tricky to describe, I initially went for a Napoleonic Era carrying capacity, mixed with some Chinese Treasure Fleet inspirations, with a troll overlay. But as time wore on leaned more fantastical and also tried to work in the Tuskarr influence more clearly. Broadly speaking they're all huge by necessity as the average Drakkari is between 11/12 feet and so need twice as much space as humans, and that plays into the design requirements. Further buoyed by my stance on trolls defaulting to mega structures when they can, utilizing spirits, alchemy/enchantment and the Loa to make it all work. You can find some other ships I used as reference in the links below:

    https://www.artstation.com/artwork/g23YAP

    https://www.artstation.com/artwork/0n5r85

    https://www.artstation.com/artwork/3oZqxY

    https://www.artstation.com/artwork/XBkP3

    https://www.artstation.com/artwork/AVdmq

    Also welcome to the new year, and thanks for reading, I'd love to hear your thoughts!
     
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    Pillowsperky: Omake: Root and Earth
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    • ~~Omake: Root and Earth~~


    To her father Jinzei was a rebel, to her farseer Jinzei was a student, and to the spirits she was not yet a name beyond her own, though mayhap that would change as her time came to be.

    Jinzei watched sun's low shimmer as it dipped below the grizzly hills south of her, seemingly striating a cloudy sky above with bands of light and darkness as it came through trees to shine around her. Soon enough that sun would dip into inky darkness, allowing the spirit-lights their time to rule sky.
    Yet more than she watched the dance of night into day Jinzei watched a pair of luminous eyes who seemed intent upon watching her back.

    No spirit warned Jinzei of danger as no wind raised her hair or chilled her tusks beyond an icy norm, yet the young shaman did not move from her spot squatting next to a low fire as she locked eyes with the watcher in their trees. For the forest did seem like it laid claim, casting shadows a little too darkly upon the lurker as Jinzei roved her eyes around the silhouette, catching glints of fang or the strange feeling of horns.
    Horns were a strange thing to see on what looked almost akin to a black-furred polar bear, and Jinzei's mind niggled some half-spoken memories of the Taunka living beyond the boulder hills she camped in now.


    Was she about to be mauled? Struck down for taking firewood from a druid's special tree?

    Would the elements even defend her if the druid had a debt Jinzei honestly owed?

    Questions that Jinzei did not wish answered with pain or suffering, so she silently reached one hand towards her woodpile, not missing the bear's eyes as it tracked troll fingers passing across Jinzei's hunting spear. Yet she did not prompt a charge nor growl from her waiting watcher, pushing the young troll to shove her woodpile and spill its fresh-cut bounty upon the snow-lashed hill towards the assumed druid.

    "'Ere and take it, have it back if'n you want. I didn't mean to take so much as might cause offense, fur-walker."
    Her voice spoke in a cracked tone from nervousness, hoping that this patient guardian-spirit knew at least a little Zandali. She certainly knew no taunka tongue.
    She watched with trepidation as the bear stepped from shade to light and revealed the enormity of his bulk, making Jinzei swear a little charm for the spirits as she took in hundreds of pounds of shaggy furred death walking upon meat-hook claws. She almost expected those slavering jaws to growl or to snarl, roaring displeasure, but she did not expect it to laugh.

    Bears shouldn't laugh but this one did, a deep and guttural chortle that shifted in strange but oddly natural-sounding ways as the bear shrank by a little and stood up, claws turning to fingers as a braided beard slid out of the remoulding chin. Within a heartbeat the terrifying bear was replaced by a still scary taunka man dressed in thick black-bear furs and a wood-slat chestpiece. No war-paint or markings for battle, but still a figure whom stood taller than Jinzei's father and probably outweighed both of her brothers combined. The fact that he loosely held a warclub roughly the size of Jinze herself did her fears no favours.

    Then he dropped the warclub in the snow to bend down and collect her scattered firewood, Jinzei's nose twitching at the strangely beast-musk scent of her druidic intruder when he came close and dumped her wood back in its pile.

    "The trees can spare at least this much, young one" He joked in a basso rumble, the taunka's immensity forcing her eyes and neck to crane upwards before he squatted down in a mimicry of her own relaxed pose.
    "I am not here to make trouble over some hewn firewood, nor am I meant to be seen at all, truly. What gave me away?"

    Jinzei was shocked by the taunka's apparent mastery of Zandali and friendly approach to her little camp, but she rallied swiftly to touch her brows and say, "the horns, mon. Them plus the staring put me in a thinking mood."

    She smiled inwardly and outwardly at the relief she felt, watching the big bovine man snort and grin at his own mistakes in monitoring. He especially took a moment to rub his horns, much as Jinzei might curl a pinky around her tusks in thought.
    "I apologise if I caused any concern, and I apologise for my sloppy shifting especially. The horns are tough to let go of, if one partakes in their shifting too swiftly. If I had taken my time to change this morning then you may well have seen nothing at all amiss." Her new camp companion groused good-naturedly as he squatted, and Jinzei motioned him closer to her fire out of good manners if little else. Her kind act only further rewarded by the druid kneeling briefly by her totems before taking a pace into her warmth.

    "You know a lot of fancy Zandali for a taunka, an' you did a pretty good salute to the loa there, friend."
    Jinzei cocked an eyebrow at the strangely troll-familiar bull, earning a smile and another chuckle as he stretched.

    The Taunka rumbled     "I'm normally scouting further south, and the languages of trade in many places are swiftly becoming troll-tongues as your frost-king swells his reach and his influence, so I picked up much nuance from speaking with your wall-watchers and sharing little campfires like yours." His hand slid out to gesture over her camp and the grand walls of Drakkari territory visible even from here in the boulder hills. Then he spoke again.
    "As for your loa, I would not name them the same word in Taunka, but all in my tribe would certainly honour the spirits in whatever shape they wish to take."

    Jinzei wrestled a bit with her curiosity and her ever present loyalty to the Drakkari, not wishing to be rude whilst also pushed to ask more of this stranger so close to her people. In the end she shifted toward the fire a little, tossing on a few more chunks of charcoal and wood before speaking cautiously.
    "You were… Scouting? What for, if'n you don't mind me asking of course, Fur-Walker…?"

    Her bulky new acquaintance seemed to understand Jinzei's concerns as he warmed his hands and tried his best to seem passive, war-club left just out of reach and his cloak concealing nothing worse than a simple cooking-knife.
    "Not scouting for conflict or tracing your walls, worry not. I am just rather interested since word worked its way south from our cousins nearer ice-crown. It seems as if your Frost-King has made enormous strides in destroying this land's undead blight, and my tribe has grown curious as to his expansion."
    The powerfully built man snickered a little, making Jinzei chuckle in tune, as he inclined his head to add "and before I forget my manners, you are correct to prompt me. I am known as Druid Rising Claw. Or just 'Rizen', amongst my friends."

    "Shaman Jinzei, of the Drakkari."
    Her hand extended for a shaking, and she winced a little just from the sheer difference in mass when Rizen clasped half her forearm in his immense grip. He didn't laugh but he did soften his hold, returning to warming himself by the fire as he produced a monstrously sized waterskin from under that fuzzy cloak.

    "A shaman? The moon shines upon me with good fortune. Perhaps you'd wish to share some exploits of the undead war? If indeed you were there to witness it, and are open to bribery with Icemist Fire-water."

    The young shaman grinned as she took the proffered waterskin in good faith, pouring a measure into her cup and feeling her nose-hairs singe at the potent whiff of it. Thank the loa for strong stomachs and regeneration, she could already hear herself saying so in the morning.
    "I wasn't allowed near the battle myself, Rizen. Woulda died soon as I set foot on that rotten earth. But I did ask the spirits their stories later, an' I did help out in the medical camps nearby. Reckon that's worth my cup of your own spirits?"

    The taunka bull just chuckled again and took a deep sip of his waterskin, shivering as he offered a dish of it to each of Jinzei's loa-totems in turn. A smart one, this one.
    "Any firewater worth drinking is also worth sharing, especially if it grants my ears some delightful stories… Not all scouting need be on my paws, after all."

    Jinzei just snickered, and her words soon danced on the wind to meet the spirit-lights, sharing one more tale to spread throughout the rolling hills of Northrend...
     
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    • Worldbuilding: Wards & Barriers
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    • OK, so I promised a world building post on the SV thread and now that I am done editing the next chapter, I can finally do it.

    Thus we are going to briefly cover some terms I have been tossing around in battles but not focused on over much, relying on context to convey their usage over direct explanation. However, they are going to become more relevant and while I think the writing carries it forward, I wanted to share this video and talk about it anyway.

    Wards & Barriers ​

    I've had characters reference these a lot, but you'll be unsurprised to know these terms don't pop up much if at all in WOW and not consistently. As it is, WOW doesn't seem to focus on the mechanics of war too much, or at least not consistently, but for the sake of my story I have to take into consideration why castle walls are still a thing in a world with cannons and such so here we are.

    Wards:
    Are a form of protective magic, akin to enchantments but often with a more subtle or spiritual bent (The language around terms can vary and be broad). For instance, Drakkari might place a blessing or 'ward' on their mounts to protect them from the undue influence of enemy shamans; or a house might have spiritual protections laid upon it to try and deter ghosts. Broadly speaking, wards is a long term, subtle enchantment, usually crafted for defensive purposes, to reinforce or protect against something, whether it be blunt force trauma (Like say a cannon ball VS castle wall) or something more conceptual as mentioned above. They tend to make up for a lack of raw power with scale, longevity and specialization.


    Barriers:
    These are seen more often in WOW, the Sunwell barrier around Silvermoon in the Second War, or the defensive bubble of Dalaran and Suramar. These are large-scale examples, smaller scale one's would be what we saw with the Drakkari army when the dead attacked, with large-scale coordination of casted and enchanted tools to create magical barriers to keep the dead at bay. Barriers are by their nature temporary, but powerful, yet so energy intensive that if they are long term they need a constant, overwhelming source of magic, (Sunwell) or are stationary and dependent on Ley Lines and in the latter case there can be very damaging consequences to maintain such magic constantly (Notice the irradiated crater).


    Conclusion:
    In cases like sieges, such as during the First or Second War, large city walls will already be warded/enchanted to withstand a lot of punishment in the forms the nation expects to be attacked by. However, this alone wouldn't say, stop dragons from flying over the walls, and thus barriers come in and an also be used to reinforce weakening sectors of wall or other fortifications.

    Large barriers or massive collections of enchanted weapons (Shield Walls, siege engines ETC) will also be used by the invading force to protect their troop movements and camps as they stage attacks. The exact nature of these defenses will vary wildly based on magic, relative skills, numbers, powers, environment and of course, the intent going into the spells, one size does not fit all situations.

    This tends to make war in the Warcraft Universe as much about stamina as it is attacking power or speed, it doesn't matter f you can launch a thousand cannonballs at an enemy fortification if they have warded their walls against it and constantly have barriers layered on top of that and the magic reinforced. (Let alone alchemically enhanced building materials)

    This means, a good chunk of warfare is about finding someway to break through an enemies defenses so that skirmishing may begin; once that happens battle will then become less linear as platoons clash across streets, fields and forests. A good example, though be it a bit too small scale and adventurer focused, but overall doing a great job capturing how war looks and feels on Azeroth can be found here:

    View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EM1LxHosiFM


    NOTES:
    An exception to this common policy would be the Horde in the Second War, who had little defensive magic beyond what the Amani offered. Instead using their Death Knights to badger the enemies so much that their magical enemies had to focus most of their energy on trying to avoid their magic being rotted away or fighting tornadoes, while bloodlust enhanced orcs crashed against magical defense, fell weapons burning at the magic.

    A good example of barriers and wards importance would be how the Troll Wars were lost. Largely in part because Jin'tha did not know the humans had access to arcane magic and as a result his barriers did not account for that, allowing the firestorm to break through and burn him and his army alive.

    Quel'Thalas is is a unique example of high powered wards, utilizing the Sunwell, some twisted druidic magic, Ley Lines and more, to alter the land itself and suppress magic not permitted, but that comes with some major drawbacks too.

    This system can also explain why dungeons are such a thing in WOW, and why its so hard to remove people from them.
     
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 3 - The Duel of Frost and Light - 1
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 3
    The Duel of Frost and Light Part 1​

    The first battles were done and now that the coastal enemies military might had been broken, came the much harder part.

    Holding the enemy territory.

    With this in mind, Malakk had called a meeting of his advisors at North-port, the central hub of their invasion and thus the easiest place to dictate from while their fleet was busy collecting reinforcements and patrolling the coasts.

    The buildings were too small to comfortably host a proper meeting of his advisors, even smaller Drakarki couldn't fit through the doors, let alone Malakk.

    Thus, they spoke outside town, in breezes that would have been deemed warm in Zul'Drak, as they looked upon the grassy planes, slick with recent rain, that expanded for kilometers on end.

    A small human of advanced years, with a trim beard and blue tinged robes hovered alongside them looking nervous to say the least.

    Tapping a piece of parchment, Malakk nodded to the man, "With the city and surrounding lands claimed we have been able to expand our reach to the outer farms, and if I read this right, another internment camp. Is that correct?"

    The magistrate nodded quickly, "Y- Yes, Frost King Malakk," The title coming awkwardly from his mouth. "Besides taxes we have little to do with the places if I am being honest."

    "That is good, Magistrate Bal, given the deplorable state we found things in," Malakk mused.

    He glanced at Gal'Darah who saluted and bowed low, "Our acolytes find most of the orcs lethargic and ill, yet not sick. The younger one's seem resilient and a few elders have been stirred by our arrival but only so many."

    Gal'Darah clicked his tongue, "We have some ideas as to what it might be, the Loa whisper of tainted blood to us but it is vague. As of now, we've no mind of how to fix it or much motive."

    Malakk huffed, "We'll see, unseemly as the camp was, I am not impressed with what I heard of them."

    "They are monster, your uh, grace; mindless monsters. If they had attacked us no one would be alive except to be tortured and devoured." The magistrate, stilled and paled.

    "Calm, you and yours are not about to be eaten or sacrificed or any such things," Malakk said dismissively. He then arched his brow and added, "We thank you for your cooperation with this, magistrate. With your surrender making it official and records opened we were able to round up any remaining weapons."

    There had been more than a few fights in that effort, and a smattering of frightful rebellions and would be assassinations, all quashed quickly. The sheer disparity in everything from size, to magic and arms ensured that. Suffice to say, it had been unseemly, but necessary work.

    Malakk dismissed thought thoughts and returned to the present with a click of his tongue and said. "I assure you the curfew will end soon. But for now, tell me, how are the people adapting?"

    Bal shrugged, "Um, skittish, your grace? Occupation tends to make one nervous," He chuckled without humor.

    "Hmm, that may be a problem if they don't till their fields and the like, I don't want everyone starving under my watch."

    He waved for a scribe, and a red-robed Wolvar stepped forward and bowed, "Raq'fah is honored to serve."

    Malakk nodded and said, "Take them with you and gather an inventory so we can see how best to deal with this matter while the townsfolk grow 'accustomed' to the situation."

    Bal bowed hastily, "Of course, at ah, once." Before awkwardly gesturing for the young scribe to follow him back into the city.

    "With that done, is there anything else I should be made aware of before we continue?"

    Moorabi patted his daggers from his cushion on the ground and whistled, "The streets are still a mess from all the fighting, and with everyone staying home the whole place is starting to look and smell a wreck. The running water is also…" He shrugged, "I don't like it.

    Groaning he waved, "Let us put how to deal with that away for now and just have some Water Binders clean the streets twice a day. Moving on."

    Miorabi chuckled, "What no sauna?"

    Malakk snorted, "In this heat?"

    That was when the Amani War Priest, Hala-Zhi, spoke up with a feline line hiss of amusement. "If you think this is warm, you poor Drakkari shall melt in the summer-time."

    "Thus we invade in the winter, a wise decision on his majesties part," Gal'Darah intoned."

    Malakk looked passed his Grand Prophet and to the bulky sky rider chieftain, saying, "Heb'jin, I was impressed with your performance. The Agamand Hills fell easily, with no losses on your end."

    The troll bowed but a frown marred his features, "Would that I could boast about this, but there was little challenge. Soldiers did not know we have aerial forces and so charged into danger with no defense and scattered easily."

    He traced along the map. "Once we reached the farmlands above, all that opposed us were farmers with no training, goaded into fighting by the heads of their great families." He slapped a fist against his palm "the moment we blew out their 'nobles', most surrendered or fled."

    "Whatever the case you performed well," Malakk said, clapping him on the shoulder. "For now, focus on patrols and message running, but keep a reserve force ready for deployment in case of a surprise attack."

    The Chieftain saluted, "As you command, Frost King Malakk!"

    Nodding, he turned to the rest of his advisors and waved a scroll, "The Juj'tulak tell me that even with the local lumber the project may not be finished in time to siege the capital. In this we will need to make use of cannons, spell and larger beasts."

    His gaze fell upon Gal'Darah and the mounted Legionary Chieftains.

    The Grand Prophet flung himself to the ground, tusks touching the dirt, "Frost King Malakk, I can offer no excuse for the loss of half my legion in that battle, I-"

    "This was not our fault!" A Chieftain cut in, one Krol'Ton, "We were not told of how dangerous these knights were!"

    Gal'Darah hissed, "Do not blame the Great Mother and Amani for our failures."

    Hala-Zhi hissed, while Arctikus tapped the table, harshly, and spoke without prompting. "We told you of this well and how to overcome them! Use Shaman and spirit callers to turn their mounts against them!"

    Krol'Ton retorted, "That only would work for ambushes," Then he went very, very quiet.

    Gal'Darah looked to the Frostmane who's expression could be described as 'pinched' or perhaps, 'painfully furious' while Hala-Zhi's claws pressed into their arms. The Grand Prophet finally spoke, "That advice was not merely for unsuspecting riders?"

    Malakk wanted to grab someone and shake them, or maybe scream into a large, cavernous hall as the Great Mother answered.

    "Of course not. My tribe too great advantage of this weakness whenever we could," she practically hissed.

    Hala-Zhi, let out a low rasping noise and spoke through the leather lynx helm, clearly and sharply. "Only the Wildhammer have the wit or awareness of spirits to ward against a true master of the elemental arts."

    Hala'Zhi rolled their shoulders, leather lynx-head helmet moving as if a part of them. "The elves accursed ward stones can interfere as well, they do not share their secrets lightly."

    Krol'Ton looked like he wished the ground would swallow him up and Gal'Darah ducked his head, "I offer no excuse, we presumed too much and-

    "Enough," Malakk snapped, drawing the Grand Prophet to his feet with his gaze alone. "Were this a normal and familiar battle I would have stripped you of command and your rank for such a blunder."

    "However," he stressed at the trolls stricken appearances. "It is clear many missed this crucial detail. What is more, rhino's and mammoth may be stronger than their horses, but the Alliance cavalry's speed and maneuverability is greater than expected."

    He clapped his hand against the map table with a resounding thud. "I want you all to go over everything we know and experienced in this battle with divine precision and adjust our strategies accordingly."

    Seeing Gal'Darah waiting for the other foot to drop he said, "That is all. Now we move on to preparing for their inevitable counterattack, I'll not rush in to assaulting their capital until the numbers are shored up so we must be ready to hold out for a time."

    Hala'Zhi tapped the table, "In this I think trenches may aid you, so the Alliance armies cannot march in a lockstep legion."

    Arctikus nodded, adding, "Their armies are disciplined, but less adaptive than some; this will also disrupt their mounts, but less so ours."

    Moorabi clicked his tongue, "I think we can use mammoth in place of siege weapons and use the rhino for line breaking, and I have some Taunka, who are game to unleash some bound spirits. Storm support perhaps?"

    Malakk mused on their words and gestured grandly across the planes, "Should we not also lay cannons and spear launchers behind trenches?"

    Several murmurs of assent filled the air, though Slad'Ran tapped the table and was rewarded with a motion to speak.

    "We may wish to spread them out, divide and conquer, storms, linebreakers, cannons and more can overwhelm the enemy force."

    "You all speak wisely," Malakk offered, a palm against his chest he added. "I shall be overseeing our defenses here with Hala-Zhi and a council of chiefs. Unless otherwise ordered..."

    His gaze flickered across each advisor intern, "Gal'Darah, you and Slad'Ran will see to the defenses of the Monastery. Great Mother Arctikus, I would have you join Heb'jin and take your Frostmane contingent to oversee the Agamand Hills as you both see fit, and use the land to your advantage."

    His gaze fell upon each of his followers, his words heavy, "Array your soldiers to best guard their lives, lay traps and spells, conjure the spirits who have gone so long unheeded, but above all, be ready."

    "The Alliance will be marching upon us soon enough."

    A chill wind wafted across the vast planes of Tirisfal Glades and Uther found himself tuning out the sound of his resting army behind to just watch the sunset, hands clasped behind his back.

    In the distance he knew, just out of his site was where a battle would soon take place; lovely fields would be stricken with blood as lives were cut short and he was to ensure that his side did more of the killing.

    'War is not evil when undertaken for a just cause, this is a mere execution of duty that more bloodshed may be spared,' He reminded himself, as he did before any and every battle.

    Uther was drawn from his musing at the sound of a familiar set of footsteps, accompanied by a splash of golden hair and shining blue eyes, Mehlar Dawnblade, his first apprentice and now fellow a Paladin.

    Mehlar came to a stop at his side, long eyebrows twitching as he surveyed the vista and murmured, "This is a good place for it, Brightwater Lake at our side and vast planes before us. I am certain you will lead us to victory."

    Uther offered a faint smile, "Your confidence warms my heart brother, and perhaps I will, but I would rather not have to fight at all."

    The elven man frowned, "I take it that is why you sent those knights ahead? I must warn you; trolls do not see us as deserving of etiquette, this may fair no better than honored Lothar's efforts with the Orcs."

    "Nevertheless, we must try. I would have gone myself," he began.

    "But we would have piled atop you to hold you back," Mehlar smirked.

    "Sadly so."

    They hung in quiet, contemplative silence for a time, before Mehlar spoke up again, his tone stilted, "Will you not be asking my thoughts on how these trolls circumnavigated Quel'Thalas to strike Lordaeron by surprise?"

    Uther shrugged, "I would no more ask you for knowledge you could not possess than I would ask Balor the Bright of the goings on in Kul'Tiras."

    Mehlar chuckled, "You would be the first."

    "Have there been problems in the ranks?" His tone turned sharp as he cast a glance back at his troops.

    Mehlar waved him off, "Nothing too serious, just irksome, though I confess my own confusion as to how this could have happened. My people have rarely been inclined towards the sea in great numbers, but the fleet we have is top of the line and should have noticed something."

    A grimace flashed on his handsome features, "I fear they may have been maliciously negligent, but to say so would be… Impolitic, if word of it returned home."

    Uther hummed, "I do not envy your position my friend, though perhaps there was no malice and these trolls are simply skillful sailors?"

    Mehlar failed to restrain a scoff, "I would doubt it, though I take it you have some concerns and that is why you left the prince at the palace?"

    Uther nodded, "Even if this is not a great or terrible battle, I would not want Arthas to experience bloodshed so early into his life as a Paladin."

    "I suppose, though I am unsure we should fear so much, no trolls possess the numbers or skills to match the might of the Alliance," the elf said dispassionately, as if by wrote.

    "Perhaps, though I would remind you we do not even have the full army of Lordaeron at our back; and while the volunteers from Brill and Dalaran are brave and welcome."

    "They are still far from the armies of the Second War," Mehlar finished for him. "I know, but even still, I cannot imagine this to be a long battle."

    "Who is to say it is but one battle and not the beginnings of a war?" Uther asked, gesturing to the mountains in the distance. "They have claimed two mountainous regions, one incredibly difficult to march an army into when it is prepared for a siege and the other rife with farms and their people."

    He gestured towards the planes, "They hold the coast as well and have apparently secured an internment camp or two, as well as other settlements. Were they fighting like raiders or the Horde they would have pillaged the land and moved on, allowing us to fall upon them from many directions."

    Uther folded his arms, "Here though, they are ready and waiting for us. We cannot divide our army into three. Seventy thousand brave and true we may have, but divide that across three fronts, with divided commanders, multiple supply chains and more…"

    He shook his head, "Whoever is leading these trolls knows warfare and they are ready to dig in their heels and make us bleed for every step."

    "I see, that is concerning," Mehlar offered, still not sounding entirely convinced, "I suppose I have much to learn in the ways of large-scale warfare."

    "Hopefully, this will be your last chance, still though…" He mused, hand running across his beard, "Still, I feel something is strange. If smart enough to force us to either divide our forces or face rear line raids, surely they would know we could try and starve them out."

    "Maybe that is why the reports hinted they did not slaughter and burn the city, they want hostages perhaps, to lure us in?" Mehlar suggested.

    "Perhaps, the reports from the escapees have been… Confusing at best."

    Armor that repelled the Light, ships that loomed over juggernauts, strange and varied armor and magics in vast numbers not normally seen among the scattered forest tribes who were meant to be the most numerous of the species.

    "Look there, brother, some good news at least!" Mehlar cheered.

    Uther squinted into the distance as two shadows appeared, and he smiled in relief at the sight of his knights racing into view, not a wound upon them!

    'Thank the Light!' He thought, even as he kept his expression carefully restrained, if pleased, as he and Mehlar moved out to meet with the steel adorned riders, their presence driving the duo to a halt.

    "Hail, General, we come bearing news from North Port."

    "What is the state of the people?" He asked before anything else.

    The two knights glanced to one another and then faced him properly again as they seemed to mull over the words.

    Finally, the larger of the two spoke, "Holding well as far as we could see, no signs of slave labor or mutilated sacrifices. There is a curfew in effect and many felled in battle, but the city and her people seem otherwise untouched."

    "According to the trolls' leaders and the magistrate," The smaller piped in sounding irritated at the mere mention of both, "The dead soldiers had their ashes returned to their families."

    Mehlar frowned, tugging at one of his eyebrows, "This is rather uncharacteristic, I would go as far to say damn near fanciful."

    "I thought the same lord Paladin, but our eyes do not lie," answered the smaller one.

    The larger of the two pulled out a scroll and offered it to Uther. "Their leader, one calling himself Frost King Malakk has agreed to meet with you at the heart of the fields between our camps and claimed territories. Escorts are permitted but only a handful, watchers may be present but at a distance."

    Unfurling the scroll and seeing much the same outlined in a rather strange but easily legible Lordonean.

    "Do you intend to go, brother?" Mehlar asked.

    "Honor demands no less my friends, but fear not, I will prepare for an ambush, on the chance that they have no honor," he said, passing the scroll to his knights and motioning them back to camp.

    "That would be wisest," Mehlar murmured at his side as they trekked back to the array of tents and sparking steel that was the war camp.

    'Wise, but hopefully unnecessary,' he thought, hoping against hope they could end this tomorrow with words and not with bloodshed.

    But he would just have to see what the morning brought.

    Malakk wanted to be on hand to mediate and organize if need be and thus he had taken to a royal yurt outside North Port. His was one among the many tents as Drakkari spread across the glades, using crystals and magic for light in place of fire.

    He was not alone however, even inside the round, angled assembly of steam bent wood and fine wool.

    Seated on the opposite side of the yurt to himself, the sole central post of dark metal separating them was Moorabi.

    The lean troll sat upon a woven pillow of elegant purple and whites, sharpening his daggers. He was ignoring the plate of food and drink at the center and Malakk himself as he Frost King feigned flicking through some assorted reports.

    Sighing he filed his work away in a shelf and said, "Speak your mind old friend. You are glaring a hole in my head and I do not now whether you wish to fight me or have me take you to bed." It was an weak jest for many reasons.

    Moorabi snorted, "Are we still friends, my king?"

    Malakk sighed, "You do not want me to meet with the Paladin." Malakk dropped down onto his large, round bed, the blue linen wrinkling beneath his weigh.

    Moorabi's retort was cold and quick, "They killed Malaka'raz, you promised us an honor-less war, you swore to bring him justice." Moorabi's hands twitched and he dropped his glowing daggers, "Now we fight alongside Nerubians and speak with the humans generals?"

    Malakk moved to return his friends daggers, but before he could finish reaching for them, Moorabi snatched them up an holstered them, unwilling to meet his gaze.

    Rocking back on his feet, Malakk dropped down to the carpeted floor and looked to the pale blue ceiling.

    "I did swear vengeance, I swore a blood oath, Moorabi; those responsible will die. It is not a matter of debate. It will happen."

    Moorabi clicked his tongue, "Then why debate with the paladin, when it only puts you at risk?"

    "Because I also promised my people peace and prosperity when I took the crown," Malakk said firmly. "I owe it to them, to the children we were to conduct myself with honor and seek a way out of the bloodshed, while still doing my duties."

    Moorabi sighed and hung his head, "Another reason to tolerate the spiders," He scratched at his ribs, like something was skittering along his skin.

    "We'd kill the one who hurt you a thousand more times, if I thought it would bring you peace, Moorabi."

    Moorabi snorted, "You're not that cold. It is why I like you, even if it irks me at times." He ran a hand through white locks and stretched. "I will be accompanying you tomorrow, to be sure there is no sneaky business."

    Malakk grinned, "I would have it no other way, Moorabi."

    Neither could truly say what they had expected.

    A cunningly cloaked party of murderous ambushers?

    A hulking monster of a warlord bedecked in bones?

    When in fact the truth felt both more mundane and stranger for it.

    Uther had little idea what to expect of these Drakkari - Ice Trolls, but a towering, muscular warrior had been prepared for. What wasn't, was the ornately layered robe in rich royal blues, with golden ornamentation and white trim. The troll was waiting patiently, hands clasped behind its back, strange, angular face hinting at a sort of pensive intrigue.

    Malakk had little experience with humans, for all his travels and recent fighting, he did not have a true image of his foe in mind. But if asked, he would say the Paladin before him might just be perfect, for all that he did not resemble the Frostmane's brutal tales of faceless tin soldiers. A strong frame, unbowed by age or weakness, with brown locks fading to white and a stern expression that belied the hope they must hold in their heart.

    The leaders stood, across from one another on the grassy planes, each bedecked in martial finery of their nations. The wind was weaving through the grass as clouds swirled overhead.

    Their twin escorts stepped away as the pair finally came face to face.

    Uther had fought many foes, across many fields of battle, he was not intimidated by size alone. But it was hard to deny, few he had faced managed to convey their greater frame than the troll before him, Ogres were clumsy and oafish, while forest trolls were too skittish and dragons too wild or too ponderous. But the Drakkari's stern manner and obvious discipline, gave the impression of looming statues.

    Malakk knew size wasn't everything, for all that his own large frame and tusks helped give him mystic. Still, often-times it was easy to forget that fact, when conversing with traders and farmers. Uther however was a stark reminder all on his own. He bore militant manner of a man who had seen war like few others and passed through the crucible unbent and unbroken. When he spoke, his voice conveyed no hint of nerves other than steel.

    "I am heartened you agreed to meet with me, Frost King Malakk, and though I am saddened it took bloodshed to bring us together, it is my hope we can end the killing here."

    Malakk's smile was a small, flickering thing, but it was there as he answered.

    "It is not by ambition or greed I come to your shores, noble Paladin, but grim necessity. Still, a part of me does hope something can come from this meeting."

    Uther arched his brow and said, "I am afraid you will have to tell me your motives, for I can think of no grievance between our people's."

    Malakk's orange eyes blazed for but a moment before he answered. "Some years ago, your Alliance drove my cousins and kin, the Frostmane from their home in the Southern Mountains. They fled North, seeking aid and relief."

    Uther's brow was arched, "If I may, that land has been Ironforge sovereignty for centuries."

    "And it was of the Frostmane nation for millennia before that," Malakk countered, before pressing on. "Still, I had hope we could reach an understanding. But when I sent to you my friend, my Speaker and voice, Malaka'Raz. He was imprisoned, he was 'interrogated and killed in a cage."

    Malakk's voice did not rise, he did not snarl, but the sibilant, angry hiss escaping his lips could have sliced through stone.

    Uther's mind was not frantic, he was too ordered for such a thing, faint memories of minutia coming to the forefront as if from the appendix of a book.

    "I remember this," He murmured, hand stroking along his beard.

    "But you had no hand in it," Malakk said bluntly. "You would not have been the type willing to come before me honorably if you had overseen such a vile act."

    Uther's brow knitted together, "Circumstances beyond my lieges control and past experience with your 'cousins' gave little time for consideration."

    Malakk let out a low huff, "Excuses, a king is king or he is not and in either case, one who has committed crimes must be made to answer for them. As Frost King, it is my duty to see justice done and the scale between us balanced."

    A howling wind passed between them, their weapons remained sheathed and their words calm.

    Yet it seemed both could sense what was coming.

    "I can only apologize for the fate of your speaker, this Malaka'raz," Uther said sternly but not unkindly. "What was done to him was wrong, but have you not more than avenged him now with this first wave of attacks?"

    The troll warlord shook his head, "The people we fought had no part in Malaka'raz's death, so far as I know, they were fought because they are the warriors of your king and will bar our way to him. Those who do not and cannot fight fight were not harmed."

    "That does not answer my question," Uther pressed.

    The troll's ears twitched, dark metal ear rings glinting as he slowly tilted his head, as if confused, "I come here to de-fang a wicked foe. But most of all I am seeking justice from those who ordered the deed and carried it out. Anyone else is immaterial to me and if they did not pose a danger to my nation would be left be."

    "Yet you occupy the coastal townships, a church and farmsteads," Uther said, "If you speak the truth, why not march upon the capital?"

    "Because I am not fool enough to lead those who follow me into death," The troll said, motioning towards him. "There is a fine line between honor and rank foolishness, one I doubt you do not know. Given you agreed to speak with me but have prepared yourself in case of an ambush."

    A rumble ran through his chest, even as Uther found himself nodding, "Those who had no part in your speaker's death will still die, as will those who cannot fight, such is the nature of war. But it does not have to be this way."

    "Only a life can repay a life and land repay stolen land," The troll said rhythmically. "Such is the way of justice, it is a scale to balance what has been broken to repay a debt. If something was stolen it must be returned and then some. If a life was taken and cannot be restored, why should the killer live gaily and the fallens loved one's languish in misery with no respite?"

    "There is a saying in our lands," Uther offered, hoping he was understanding this leader's mind as he did his own lieges.

    "And that is?" the troll asked with a light click of his tongue.

    "Vengeance, begets, vengeance," Uther said simply, patting the holy book that hung from his hip. "If we all sought revenge for every wrongdoing, then the vengeance itself would need to be avenged in time."

    "Wise words," the troll said, nodding his head and looking upon Uther with a pleased expression that no longer struck him as alien as it should perhaps have.

    "And yet," they continued, "I do not feel them for us in this moment here. You speak of vengeance, of hot-blooded passion rooted in pain and catharsis. I speak of justice, something meditated and deliberated, extolled so as to put an end to any sordid affair for good."

    "So, to avenge one, many more must die?" Uther coaxed, seeing a glint in the trolls' eyes.

    "I will make you an offer, Uther Lightbringer," The troll said suddenly, hands open, arms wide, totally exposed. "Send to me your king and the executioner who slew my speaker; I shall duel them both at once, openly and fairly. I shall likely win, and that will be the end of it. No one else in this land need risk death."

    Uther shook his head, "I cannot do that to my liege, but I can fight for my king, as I fight in his name and that of his kingdom."

    The troll shook his head, looking nearly forlorn, "You committed no crime, you should not have to bear the burden of my justice." Malakk grinned, "Besides, I like you, warrior, I'd rather not see you fall."

    "Maybe so, but I would gladly do so if it would spare others from being lost in the course of a greater conflict."

    The trolls gaze looked over the knight and mage who Uther had, had accompany him and shook his head. "All your soldiers' fight for your king and in his name; even were I to defeat you they would not surrender. He," The troll stressed, "Would not surrender."

    A frown marred Uther's face as he accepted that truth, "You are not wrong, even were we to duel to decide the fate of this battle, I do not think it could stop a war."

    "Would that it could," The troll said, his voice strained.

    They lingered in silence for a time, before the Frost King spoke again. "It is as we feared, Uther, even if we were to settle this between us, or maybe even I against your king, war is inevitable."

    "I am afraid that is how it will have to be if you will not simply leave us in peace," Uther said simply, chest tight, none of this sat right with him.

    Malakk chuckled, words low and akin to a sigh, "It is strange is it not?"

    Uther met his gaze, hoping he would continue.

    "I come here, to this place, to seek justice for my Speaker, whom I loved dearly as a boon companion. Yet he was still one troll and now so many more will die to avenge him. So many of yours who never even knew he died and played no part in his execution will fall as well."

    He clutched at the air, "I cannot let an injustice go unanswered, nor neglect the cries of my people be it for his death or those who died fleeing the only home they had ever known. Yet in doing my duty, I will lead more of them into death and pain than those who have fallen.... Or watch all I have built slip through my fingers as a result of my unwillingness to act."

    Uther bowed his head, "Such is the nature of leadership I believe; to be granted power and use it well, one is intern bound to those who follow them and the greater tides surrounding them."

    "It is a sad thing for a leader, when they care" The Frost King murmured.

    "It is agony," Uther answered, hand over his holy book.

    "Yet… It is better that we suffer it, better to suffer for one's love than to have never cared at all, better for those who follow us."

    "Would that no one have to suffer at all, but that is not the world we live in," Uther said quietly. "Is there no way you can be convinced to leave?" He asked, one last time.

    "Were the situations reversed would your king, your people allow such an act to go-unavenged?" Was the answer, the one he knew he would get, but he had to ask.

    Uther could only sigh, "Then there is no other choice but to let our armies decide this, regardless of what we may wish."

    "Bound by duty and rank we may be, but I promise this to you, Uther Lightbringer. You will have an honorable bout. I swear it."

    Malak slowly drew his axe and Uther his hammer; in a single instant they let ice and light forged steel touch, a brief bridge across the divide between their sides before pulling away.

    "And you shall have my promise to take this no farther than our own lands, Frost King Malakk."

    With all that could be said, spoken, they turned and marched away.
    ____________________________________________________
    NOTES:
    So, quick personal aside but a lot is going on in my life right now and a lot of it sucks, and also the internet is struggling so yeah, sorry about that but needed to explain why if I suddenly drop out for a little while.

    As to the chapter itself, I had a lot to accomplish here and ended up expanding it massively from what it originally was with Hala-Zhi and especially the Uther & Malakk meet up, plus showing the following night, so I hope that all worked. Aslo thanks to those who encouraged me to work in the allies of the Drakkari more, I hope it is working.

    One thing I want to sell is that Malakk is definitely smart and knows warfare but is also not like, grand admiral super genius, he has advisors for a reason, many more experienced generals than he, but even they can get tripped up by presumption. Cos yeah, that Shaman and horse thing not baseless.

    I pulled it from Lord of the Clans and am choosing to keep it because so much of Thrall's success was reliant on the Alliance struggling with Shamanistic magic. The way I have this make sense in universe is that most human nations and to a lesser extent Ironforge, have not had to deal with armies of highly trained shamans in generation. Oh the odd strong one will pop up in a Gnoll pack, and some of the medium sized forest tribes aren't nothing.
    But in the broad strokes, these groups have not the time or resources to train a fully fledged war shaman like the Drakkari do, the Amani, Jintha'Alor and Gurubashi might but they rarely engage with humans. As a result, a moderate mage will usually beat a moderate Shaman and never encounter anything stronger, thus leading to this magic to be largely dismissed as for "Primitive creatures who cannot handle arcane magic." This is further helped by the Wildhammer's isolationist policy.
     
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