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New Dominion (Warcraft)

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The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 4 The Duel of Frost and Light Part 2
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 4
    The Duel of Frost and Light Part 2    ​

    With the intent to battle declared, all that was to be done was make ready.

    Bat riders cavorted in the sky, eyeing their rivals in the distance with keen eyes.

    Guards lined the streets of the city, eyes to the North and South horizons, awaiting reinforcements or anticipating the battle that was to come. While merchants and peasants sat quietly within their homes, waiting.

    Upon the fields cannons and spear launchers were made ready in trenches, while new formations were arrayed. Rhino Riders were accompanied by a Shaman each as well as packs of Raptors; the legions of War-bands regimented behind their line breakers while mighty mammoth brought up the rear.

    But no attack came.

    No call to march was sounded.

    & The silence was growing deafening.

    Malakk pulled a spyglass from his face and scoffed, "Now of all times for these humans to trust our better nature so inconvenient."

    Hala-Zhi gave him a look and Malakk passed them the spyglass, answering her unspoken question as he did so.

    "He now trusts me not to harm his precious people and is satisfied to wait us out, or at least to await reinforcement. But he does not trust me enough to have simply made camp." Malakk was not a master of war to the degree of some of his advisors, but that much was obvious. If anything, Uther likely intended to advertise his intent to make a point.

    Hala-Zhi, let out a low, rumbling hiss, "They have arrayed their front lines for battle but raised defensive barriers; the Lightbringer means to keep us penned for slaughter. Even with our preparations, this will be a bloody battle."

    Malakk nodded, bitter and brutal as the Amani's advice could be, they'd proven an able advisor since the initial treaty for material and logistical support had been struck.

    'This would be a convenient time to have Zul'jin's army march in and strike Uther's from behind no?' Malakk mused.

    Sadly, or perhaps not, and despite friendship declared between their empires, Malakk had not requested direct military aid, nor Zul'jin offered it.

    He could only speculate as to the Forest Trolls motives, but for his own, it was simply a matter of not knowing if he needed them & not wanting to be tied down by local politics and history unless strictly necessary. Things like who owed who land or which capital should be struck first and the like could grind a well run campaign to a halt.

    'Still, that does not mean Zul'jin will not take advantage of the chaos, or maybe wait it out?' He was drawn back from his musings when Moorabi clicked his tongue and spoke.

    "He will likely shuffle in new lines of every few hours I am thinking, to keep his forces fresh."

    Hala'Zhi nodded, "Even if this scheme with the shamans works, the Lightbringer has Paladins at the head of every knight-pack, and their mounts are a different, unholy breed. The enemy will not fall into chaos easily now."

    "Fighting an army is one thing, but this entire Alliance at once, and from this position? It would be madness," Moorabi murmured.

    "Aye, I would rather take them apart piecemeal, rather than be backed up against a wall as they gather their forces." Malakk smirked as Seer Ix'it's marched to join them, eyes aglow, "But he has not taken everything into account, for, how could he?"

    "How is the front?" Uther asked, not looking up from the map table as Mehlar approached and saluted.

    "The soldiers are holding firm my lord, the trolls have shuffled around their lines but seem largely dug in," he reported swiftly.

    "I see," Uther tapped the map and pushed himself up, frowning he said, "those trenches remain a concern, but our mages and mortar teams should be a match for their artillery."

    "Indeed, a fairly clever trick I must concede; it seems the earth spirits trolls revere have more potency to them than usual," Mehlar added.

    "How's morale?"

    At that Mehlar frowned, "I may not be the best persons to ask, but I am under the impression many dislike this plan, seeing our- their," he corrected, "Churches and homes occupied and being held back is… Vexing."

    Ignoring his friends slip, Uther sighed, "I thought it would be, but I'll not go racing into the jaws of battle if there is no pressing need. If we can wait them out more reinforcements will continue to filter in, and the capital will have more time to prepare…"

    "I sense that something still troubles you, brother, speak to me," Mehlar whispered, almost but not quite reaching for him before pulling back to attention.

    Uther's frown did not abate even as he motioned for Mehlar to stand at his side and traced his finger along the battle lines. "The way he has arrayed his forces, the trenches, and locations he has claimed, all should paint Malakk as being on the defensive and a casual glance might hint as such and yet..."

    Uther's finger traced a wide arch around the markings, "He's spread his lines wide, but with a smattering of packed platoons with line breakers at the head. He must know we will come to outnumber them in time, but the Drakkari lines show no hint if preparing for a siege."

    Mehlar hummed in thought, "It looks as though he would intend to march upon us, but with so many of his forces in the mountains and church and ourselves positioned for a defensive clash… yes that is odd."

    "Yes. Something… Is amiss…" Uther murmured.

    As if summoned from the anxieties gnawing at his subconscious, a sorceress materialized before him, robes flickering in the wake of her arcane energies and voice sharp, "My lord, the Southern fields are ablaze in dragon flames and bottled fire!"

    "Dragons!?" Mehlar gasped.

    Uther's eyes were wide as the pieces fell into place with terrible finality.

    "He had an advanced force waiting in the wings the entire time!" His gaze locked to the sorceress, "Do the flames advance upon us?"

    "Yes, my lord, the rear-guard is trying to fight them but they are growing by the moment."

    'He intends to force us to march upon him and straight into that cannon fire!'

    The sounds of panic and shouts of "Smoke!" and "Fire" filled his ears as he raced out into the camp.

    Grasping his holy tome, Uther felt the power of the light suffuse him, threw back his head and roared, "Remain calm!"

    Gesturing sharply to his command staff, his orders booming across the glade.

    "All mages who wield the frozen winds, sally forth South with the Wildhammer among us and two brigades clerics to hold back the fire! Mortar Teams and Paladins prepare to lay down suppressing fire and reinforce our barriers. Everyone else, ready for battle, they seek to drive us before them, but we shall hold fast and shatter them when they strike, for the Alliance, for Lordaeron and the Light!"

    'Magnificent, if only he were one of mine,' Malakk thought as the Paladins orders were whispered into his ears by the winds, courtesy of a quartet of Shamans.

    'Still, I cannot let him ruin all our good work,' he thought, fastening the triad of icy claws to his wrist and then drawing his twin axes, clashing them together, each strike letting loose a howling gale.

    "Drakkari! My warriors, my champions! Heroes of Zul'Drak, this is our moment of truth!"

    A rapturous chant rang out and the earth shook.

    "Adopt the spear formations, break their barriers and drag them out into the open fields that we may settle this in one fell swoop, my friends, will you fight with me!?"

    "Hail Frost King Malakk! We will fight to the ends of this world for you, for Zul'Drak and the Drakkari Empire!"

    Malakk brandished his blades and cheered, "Then charge!"

    Gal'Darah led the line breakers in a charge, Baku thundering beneath him, a Shaman pressed against his back as raptors ran alongside and warriors trailed behind. As they neared their foe, he roared.

    "My kin, this is our moment of truth!"

    As if in retort Gal'Darah heard the enemy commanders voice booming across the winds and echoed in his mind by the Loa

    "Let the Lights Justice fall upon them!"

    This proclamation was followed by golden hammers, blades and spears soaring into the sky to rain down upon their army.

    'So, they heard of Saronite and seek to counter, clever, but do not underestimate the Word Priests of Zul'Drak!'

    Runic stave in hand, Gal'Darah slashed discordant symbols through the air, his voice booming as a Rhino's, "Ra'Zen'Ba!"

    The Word Priests followed his lead and runic barriers of shining emerald-black burst to life in the sky, dispersing the light with a flash.

    Their spectacular act was answered with explosive booms as cannons joined the fray and Gal'Darah hissed, "Tight ranks, defenses high, do not falter!"

    Unfamiliar words filled his ears as golden knights broke from the Alliance lines, "Strike down their leaders, cut down their giant beasts and break their charge!"

    Eyes wide he bellowed, "Cast down their Knights, raptors feast upon them and defend the Frost King!"

    The soldiers roar of affirmation was nearly drowned out by the crash of cannons and the growing stampede on both sides.

    The clash of raptors and knights began, earth being kicked into the air as their handler's duck and wove through the onslaught when Gal'Darah hear his shaman finish their prayer, one among hundreds.

    It was at that moment, when the knights were making for Malakk and clashing with with the line-breakers that their mounts, once steadfast as could be, tossed the warriors from their perch. Leaving only the Paladins still astride and torn between retreat, defending their fallen comrades or making some last ditch effort for Malakk.

    Any cheers of jubilation on his side were cut short by Gal'Darah's bellowed order, "Run them down before they rally!" His blessed words ringing out over the sound raining steel as warriors raced to clash.

    Malakk hooted as he saw the advancing knights charge overturned and struck low in a brilliant, blurred display of spells and steel.

    Just as foretold, the Paladins held steady but with their bulwark broken, the Alliance raiding force was being made to rally rather than advance. 'We shall fall upon and encircle them!'

    Guards and Gundraki Elite at his back he saw the hasty humans shield wall formed up at the center as a black clad elf drew a crimson blade and raced to meet him.

    'Such spirit, but you are not my foe!'

    Contorting around the elves' unicorn and mighty swing he caught the tip of their burning blade with his axes. It was only a moment, but it was long enough for Kutube'sa and Bith'Sa to deliver a vicious twin attack, that sent the paladins mount to the ground and the elf hurtling back into the lines.

    In the distance Malakk could see Uther, could sense him, shining like a bon fire; the paladins presence alit the army and if he was to win, that light needed to be snuffed out.

    Spell fire crashed down against the Alliance's barrier and rhino began to slam against the fields. Captured storms were let loose by Moorabi's Taunka and their fury released arcs of lightning across the enemy ranks.

    It was too much, too many things all at once, the casters and priests were stretched too thin; rips and tears in the barriers materializing and forced ajar by his forces as the battle was truly joined.

    "Do not yield, for the light!" The elf roared, drawing a roar from the soldiers.

    'He held up well!' Malakk surged to the forefront and weaved around the spear that lanced out at him, slipping his grasp around it he spun, yanking the soldiers off his feet and sweeping the elf's legs out from under him.

    Freeing the spear, he saw the shield wall advance and bellowed, "Scatter before me!" clashing his axes over one another and spiraling towards them like a tornado he heard the shrieks and shouts as their formation was shattered.

    A few meter-wide break in the army greeted Malakk as he barreled forward, "Keep them off my back!" He barked, blurred slashes and swipes sending any that dared get to close flying in pieces as his elites swarmed through the gap and tore into their foes.

    More soldiers swarmed him, "For the Lightbringer!" – "Protect Uther!" – "Don't let him through!" they roared, but no king would bate before the words of an enemy. Dancing and weaving around the strikes and spells, letting the worst glance off his frame with barely a scratch or burn.

    Malakk crashed his blades together and cheered as the storm within howled. An explosive wave of swirling cold ripped through the army like a giants' blow until it bared down upon Uther and was met with a shout that let loose golden flames.

    Air and light danced and writhed before extinguishing with a flash and a howl.

    Malakk did not wait and leapt forward, bringing down his axes in a devastating strike that Uther met with not a moments weakness, hammer pulsing with light and veins of gold surging through his frame.

    The strike let loose a snarling roar of force, any soldiers too close found themselves hurled back by the wild wave of ice-cold air and flaming gold.

    "Stay back and hold fast warriors!" Uther bellowed.

    "Leave him to me and do not falter!" Malakk shouted.

    Another blur, another strike, and the air around them was split asunder, an explosive wave of raw force only they could withstand writhing around them as twin axes and war hammer crashed and slashed. Each warrior weaving and sidestepping around the others strikes with nary an inch to spare.

    Malakk's body swelled, alchemical enhancements pumping through his veins while rippling flames of light burst from Uther's frame.

    With a calamitous dual strike, the ground cratered and splintered beneath them; they met each other's gazes, eyes rippling with a burning intensity and energy.

    "To think," Malakk grunted, pushing against the Paladin, "That you would find a way around our Saronite so quickly. Urk! & when I chose not to use it against you!"

    Uther pushed back against him, forcing Malakk's feet to dig into the earth as the Paladins growled, "I needed to be ready for anything."

    "Would that you would be my general!"

    "My loyalty is to my king, in life and death!"

    A bursting orb of light tore its way from Uther's skin and launched Malakk backwards, only a hasty wind barrier shielding him from the worst of it.

    'His body is breaking apart!' Malakk realized, seeing golden blood leaking from Uther's vein, light fire spilling from his mouth as skin cracked and ripped asunder. 'Too much power, too sudden, if he only had more time before this...'

    "Uther the Light Bringer, let us end this with honor and valor!" Malakk raised his axes high.

    Uther drew his hammer back, readying for one last mighty swing, "Come at me then!"

    Winds howled and light surged as they brought their weapons down in what was to be a legendary clash of frost and light.

    But it was not to be.

    Uther's hammer shattered the moment he struck Malakk's axes, the light a mere figment of the true power infused to the shaft, turned staff that slipped beneath the twin axes and stole them from the Frost King's grip, dragging the troll from his stance.

    Malakk barely rounded on his foe in time to see the blow coming.

    Uther's Light infused stave ripped through his blessed armored and enhanced skin, burning a hole right in the Frost King's gut.

    Malakk's left hand lashed out too fast to see and with a blurred strike he drove three ice-claws into Uther's chest, the frost washing over his body as a tidal wave did the coast.

    "For… Lordaeron," Uther whispered, the light leaving his eyes and flowing into the staff.

    'He's going to burn me from the inside out!'

    Malakk grasped the Saronite jewel adorned to his battle-kilt and spat, "Ket'Zun"

    The light inside him erupted at that very moment, ripping its way out of his core in a burning array of gold; the flames path barely held back from splitting him in two.

    Malakk's hands fell over the monstrous wound on his side, legs quaking he collapsed to his knees, burnt and torn organs straining to escape as he heaved out a cackle, "You canny bastard! You almost got me!"

    Blood spewed from his maw and drenched his fangs; the Alliance warriors howled in anguish, stampeding towards him.

    Malakk's vision was engulfed in a flash of crimson as Kutube'sa burst onto the field in a whirlwind of flame. The air cracked and shrieked as Bith'sa summoned a wall of ice around them and his guards fell in at his front.

    "Good," he gasped, staggering to his feet, blood pumping in his ears yet somehow dim, "Push forward with me."

    Each shot a hand before Malakk as his soldiers raced to pushed back against the Alliance soldiers maddened assault upon their barricade.

    "Please sire, tend to your wounds," Bith'sa said.

    "We will take it from here!" Kutube'sa swore.

    "You expect your king to break from the front?" He wanted to shout but it hurt too much, something more inside him might tear.

    "The champion is dead, their morale broken," they pronounced, "Allow us to take the lead!"

    "For we!" The flashed their weapons proudly, "Are the ones you chose to champion you!"

    Rolling back on his heels and swallowing blood, Malakk grinned, "Fight well and win honor," he ordered, stepping back into the growing throng of his own soldiers, and letting Ix'it's claws grab and whisk him away,

    His last sight of that battlefield was of the ice turning to steam.

    The last sound was a united cry.

    "For Frost King Malakk!"
    ________________________
    NOTES:

    Hey again, sorry this update was a bit late, its been a hellish week and a half but I think things are finally calming down.

    This chapter was one of the few early scenes I had a very strong picture of when coming up with this story, so I hope it worked out. I really wanted to give Uther a respectful send off, so I hope that worked as intended.

    Also huzzah, those dragons I set up like 6 chapters ago are finally here! Also I hope I managed to both capture the chaos of battle without loosing too much in comprehensibility.
     
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 4 (Kings Clash - Part 1)
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 4
    (Kings Clash - Part 1)    ​

    How had this happened?

    Why had this come to pass?

    And what was he to do about it?

    Such questions had bombarded his mind ever since a tidal wave of smoke had spilled over the land and suffused even the capital with the stench of burnt grass and ash. The cities barriers repelled the remnant smog, but it was an ill omen to be sure.

    Terenas Menethil stilled himself on the way to the war hall and took a breath, 'I need my wits about me if I am to win this war,' he told himself.

    A frown marred his features as he resumed his march, 'Yes, this is a war now, or more, it was when this began and we simply failed to realize it.'

    It should not have been.

    Common knowledge would tell one this was simply some jumped up Amani who got too confident thanks to some new magical trickery or a powerful weapon.

    'Uther, oh Uther you suspected this could be more but even then could not tolerate leaving the people at the mercy of this old foe.'

    Trolls had more decorum than Orcs. But enough that one could leave settlements, let alone a holy site in their hands while awaiting the might of the Alliance, or even just that of Lordaeron? Hardly.

    His steps grew heavier and his brow furrowed at that thought.

    'The Regional Defenders... I never should have allowed the nobles to badger me down to just that reserve force in place of a standing army!'

    It had been an ongoing battle, the joint fleet of Lordaeron and the Alliance had been won. But the lords and ladies would not tolerate an army akin to that forged in the days of the Second War to be maintained every year hence.

    'Yes the funds are a problem, one of many. But if we did not need to wait on every landed noble to raise a host we would not have sent Uther into battle with only Regional defenders and militia forces!'

    When this war was won he would be changing that. Damn their eyes and their titles, the Silver Hand and knightly orders would back him to the hilt. And with allies like Ironforge and Stormwind doing much the same he could force the reformations through.

    'But until then, we must wait for our allies to marshal their armies and raise our hosts, Light willing we have time before they reach the capital.' Teranas dared not think of the fate these invaders had in mind for he and his family, let alone the people if they had the confidence and worse, the power to assault the capital.

    He came upon the ornate entryway to his war room and could hear heated discussion through the thick wood and stone. Steeling himself and etching fear for Uther and bitter musings from his mind as the guards pushed the doors open with a rush of air, King Teranas marched inside.

    "Your majesty!" His gathered generals called out, Magroth, Halahk, Dagren and the newly appointed Garithos stood at attention around a map table. Alongside them representatives from Stomgarde, Dalaran, Kul'Tiras and Stormwind could be found.

    "Gentlemen," he said crisply, taking his seat, "What were you discussing?"

    Garithos puffed out his chest and spoke first, "We were merely debating the challenges of a winter campaign your grace."

    Dagren_the_Orcslayer was frowning, so there was likely more to it than that but it was Halahk_the_Lifebringer who spoke next.

    "As I recall you did not think this would be a winter campaign."

    Garithos looked displeased, "I doubt these beasts have the wit or the numbers to make it such, but the considerations do you and Lord Dagren credit."

    Teranas steepled his fingers and sighed, "Yes winter wars are always the worst. Under other circumstances I might say this would still be to our advantage." Lordaeron was the breadbasket of the north after all. "But with the difficult years we have had if this was drags on it shall prove harmful indeed."

    Magroth_the_Defender bowed, "If I may speak my liege?"

    Teranas waved him on and watched with tired eyes but a sharp mind.

    "If the information we have received thus far is to be believed, then I imagine that was very much these trolls, these 'Drakari's' intent. And that we should comport ourselves as though our enemy is more accustomed and prepared for such battles than we."

    Dagren was frowning again, "Which begs the question of where their supply chains would come into this. If we can break it then this war is won."

    Garithos snorted, "Or they will simply take from the lands they raid and pillage to sustain themselves, though they may be a might bit smarter than the orcs about it."

    Halahk touched his missing eye, "Perhaps, but we should not presume too much so soon, this is a new enemy in many ways. I would wish for the Wildhammer to serve as scouts for us but..."

    Teranas motioned for silence, "They were scarcely members of the Alliance even before Quel'Thalas and Gilneas left us."

    He studiously ignored Garithos's sneer and the fact he still had a high elf flittering about the castle in diplomatic quarters. "But do not forget we have our Arial reserve force as well as the commissioned Wildhammer squads. Less than the armies of Aerie Peak they may be, they compensate for small numbers with honor and skill that eclipses their kin."

    And more to the point it was what they had, another matter to address when this war was over, a large standing army and areal force. Be it for the Alliance as a whole or simply Lordaeron, he would not allow his nation to be taken by surprise again.

    'Think on the plans and costs later, focus,' he reminded himself, returning to the matter at hand. Dagren motioned to speak and Teranas waved him on.

    "In other words, we have what we have and we must make the best of it," Murmured the bearded man, armored hand rubbing his chin. "We have won wars under far more dire circumstances than this after all. Still, I would recommend withdrawing any and all available forces to the capital and brace for a siege while the nobles and our allies make ready and march on the enemy."

    Magroth was the next to speak up, "What of the outer villages that may be targeted in the capitals place? If this is to be our plane we must send out forces to escort the civilians to the capital, lest they be washed over by the enemy."

    The Dalaran representative raised his hand, "Your grace, would it perhaps be wise to evacuate you and your family to Dalaran proper?"

    "I will not flee before an enemy is even at the gates, that would hardly inspire confidence in my people," He rubbed his chin, "Still. see what you can have made ready a means to evacuate as many civilians as possible should matters take a turn for the worst."

    There were old catacombs that had once served such purposes, but with the growing potency of magic they seemed ever and ever less necessary.

    "If we are sending out soldiers," Garithos mused with a speculative gleam, "Maybe we can have them lay some traps while they are at it?"

    "Let us determine what we can do to best prepare first," Terenas cut in, "And give thought to how we might play it to our advantage only after a broad strategy is agreed on."

    "Yes your majesty," the room intoned.

    Teranas knew this would be a long night, but he had little choice but to work now and see what the morning brought.

    'Wherever you are Uther, I pray you are safe.'

    After Uther's fall the battle had quickly devolved into a route.

    Paladins, Mages and more experienced soldiers had tried to hold firm, be it to evacuate who they could or fight to the last. But when Great Mother Arctikus led a surprise force down the slopes to strike them from the Western flank it had been the final blow.

    A captive known as Mehlar had tried to rally the soldiers, fighting valiantly all the while. But too few had heeded him before the inexperienced or ill-prepared fell into chaos or broke ranks and tried fleeing East to escape the flames and fighters.

    The tone in the town, and even more the monastery was unsurprisingly dispirited at best and quietly horrified at worst.

    Meanwhile the camps surrounding them could only be described as jubilant, with Drakkari celebrating their victory.

    Some had even let victory run away with them.

    Malakk had been forced to discipline more than a few soldiers for drunk and disorderly behavior thanks to acquired wine, for which the tavern had been reimbursed. Another had been executed by Moorabi for disgraceful conduct and his companions banished to the periphery for not reporting it.

    Now those on disciplinary work or there by necessity were at the remains of the battlefield, quashing the lingering fires with the words of shamans, water spirits and alchemic droughts.

    The Frost King himself was in the camps heart, on his mobile throne before a map of the battlefield and his slowly gathering council.

    He sat rigid in his throne, shaped and hewn from stone to seat him perfectly as it was, he could almost be called comfortable.

    Save for the agony running through his right side.

    Malakk took in a low, shallow breath, right arm frustratingly delicate as he clutched his throne and ground out a question to Slad'Ran, who was inspecting his side.

    "How long before I can fight again?" The pain was fading again, but that had little to do with healing and everything to do with his medicine and magic.

    The snake Prophet hissed disinterestedly, "You could fight now, but you would lose quickly. Lest it a competition to see whose organs shred themselves first."

    "Comical," Malakk grunted.

    Slad'ran's gaze remained critical, "You would recover faster if you laid down and consented to another trance."

    "There is a fine line between due care and looking weak, I'll stomach the time wasted to remain awake and aware. Now how long?" Besides, as accepted as his rule had become, Malakk could never rule out betrayal and a painful last stand looked better than murdered in his sleep.

    Standing at his full height and only just meeting Malakk's gaze when he was seated, the reptilian prophet answered, "This wound is complex. A blend of accursed powers, holy magic and their strange Light. The Saronite energies and light respond to each other poorly, as you saw, a fascinating development I wish to research at the temple if you grant me the time."

    Seeing his brow furrowing the prophet clicked his tongue, "I would say a week before you return to what could be called full strength. However, you can move around now so long as you tread lightly."

    He tilted his head to the side and blinked slowly, "But please try not to rip open your stomach again, the Loa and gods can only do so much for one determined to die in battle."

    Malakk scoffed, 'One would think the divine would be more useful…' Shaking the irritated thought off and answering, "Thank you prophet, I will endeavor to be more cautious when dueling the Alliance's champions."

    His attention was drawn to a red and gold robed scholar bearing a scroll and a pleased expression, "Word from the fleet, Frost King Malakk!"

    "Hooktusk finally reporting in then? I was beginning to think she'd wondered off course," Malakk said lazily, even as he beckoned the blue haired youth forward.

    The tan messenger bowed and unfurled the scroll, "The Navarch writes that she has toured the northern coast of Trisfal and found little resistance. They did not suspect our coming and could not arm themselves in time. She assured that all coastal towers and forts have been reduced to rubble, as have any naval vessels."

    "That could not have lasted though I assume?" Malakk asked.

    "You are indeed correct Frost King Malakk, they have been encountering growing resistance the farther they travel. But with North-Port lost their fleet struggles to match our own, especially against Malakk's Might," The messenger beamed. "She writes will round the Western Mountains and will begin strafing Silverpine… Though, she believes the Shadowglen have taken initiative and begun launching their own attacks."

    "Hmm, that could be a problem in days to come, but for now, if they wish to bloody our enemies it is not my duty to stop them. Still, I would advise her caution, the farther south she travels the close she comes to Kul'Tiras. Our last reports hint that while their navy took great harm in the Second War, it should have recovered enough to be a fierce force."

    "Shall I send her those orders?" The scholar asked.

    "She has those orders already, just be sure to stress that warning, we cannot risk overextending ourselves," Malakk said. Ears twitching, he heard several familiar and unfamiliar footsteps, "Run along now, other matters demand your king's attention."

    The tiny Drakkari saluted, "At your will, Frost King Malakk!"

    Watching the half troll go, Malakk slowly turned his attention to his gathering advisors, and elite guards along with his chosen speaker for the monastery.

    Dressed in light blue and golden robes, she was a pale woman, barely out of girlhood; with white hair, a severe expression and manner even in the face of warriors twice her size. That iron will and her taking up a sword to defend her fellows but showing the wisdom of when to sheath it had impressed Gal'Darah. So much so, for him to recommend her for the role Speaker for the Monastery, out of those who had survived the battle for the Paladins training site.

    The fact she was already a notable priestess buoyed this decision.

    Whitemane spoke first, her tone cold and clipped, "Why did you have me brought here?" She clutched her white and gold staff tightly eyeing his council and Malakk himself with the sort of wariness one would give a demon.

    "The battle is over and there are fallen among your people who will need funerary rights," Malakk intoned. "Part of me thinks it cruel to ask this of you, but crueler still would be to insult the dead by disrespect." He motioned towards his elite guards who stepped forward, Kutube'sa holding Uther's hammer shaft and Bith'Sa the shattered remnants of the head.

    "We salvaged these from the battlefield along with the Lightbringers body, Frost King."

    Whitemane gasped, a sliver of a crack in her austere manner, "Then he is truly lost?" The words escaping her like a thought more than spoken.

    "Yes, Uther the Lightbringer has fallen, though his bravery should and skill should be recorded in song. For now, I called you here hoping you would know his desired last rites, or of how such a man is to be honored in your customs?" Malakk asked, motioning for her to speak.

    Whitemane bit back a scowl her gaze suspicious, "Why would you ask of that?"

    Malakk repressed a sigh and resisted the urge to sink into his chair, it was a fair question, and doing so would hurt regardless.

    Sucking in a breath and internally wincing at the way his lungs burned Malakk said, "He was a brave, noble and canny foe. We may have been enemies, but I would see to it his valor is commemorated." He held her gaze for a moment and added, "There is still to be dignity in dying, even in war like this one."

    Her expression belied the uncertainty that seemed to radiate from her very essence before it was locked away behind a wall of steel and she spoke. "I would need to consult our archives for his desired… Rites, but traditionally a tomb would be expected at the very least."

    "It will be done then, as before I am comfortable leaving this in your hands if you prefer, but can have my own followers handle the matter."

    Whitemane shook her head frantically, white hair flickering, "No, he was… He was one of ours. We should tend to him and his effects."

    Malakk nodded, "I would hope to see his mighty hammer restored and used to mark his tomb, but I will leave the specifics in your hands priestess. Prophet Slad'Ran shall join you at the monastery, but may we speak on happier topics when next we meet."

    The woman's face twitched ever so slightly as her mind evidently warred on how to regard him before she briefly crossed her stave over her chest and nodded, "I will see it done." Before turning and slowly striding away, her original escorts trailing in her wake at a respectful distance.

    As Slad'Ran moved to follow, Malakk whispered, "Ensure nothing untoward comes from their treatment of his body, I want the strongest wards blaring endlessly. I may have respected him, but I am not fool enough to welcome my enemy's resurrection."

    Slad'Ran bowed, "Wise words, I shall see to it personally."

    Letting the Prophet go, Malakk leaned back against his throne and beckoned Gal'Darah, Hala'Zhi, Arctikus and Quetz'Lith forward, "You all comported yourselves well on the field. Gal'Darah you adapted to our foes movements with skill and speed."

    Gal'Darah slammed his fist into the ground and bowed his head, "I thank you for giving me the chance to redeem my earlier failure. I swear on my life to carry this momentum forward."

    Seeing the Grand Prophet rise, Malakk looked to Arctikus and Hala'Zhi nodding, "Your information has proven its worth time and again. Great Mother, the timing of your attack was impeccible and shattering their growing resolve. Hala'Zhi I must thank you for you collaboration with my Chieftains after my duel with the Lightbringer. Each among them commend your swift and fierce tactics."

    The Frostmane leader bowed and answered, "I am honored to be of service, sire."

    Hala'zhi saluted, "Your Gundraki Legions proved masterful warriors and their commanders wise, Frost King Malakk."

    Finally, his gaze fell upon Quetz'Lith, "Your Dragoons are owed much for their splendid performance, your patience and timing in this war secured us this swift victory with so few losses." Hand over his heart, he whispered, "You have the gratitude of a king."

    Saluting, the Sky Sovereign answered, "This one is pleased to have brought honor to Sky Legions. The Wildhammer proved fierce foes, but I am confident we shall be a match for them even when legions of them take to the sky."

    "I am sure you will, though for now I must ask of the Nerubians among your number?"

    Quetz'Lith nodded, fangs clacking together in a smirk, "They got away under the cover of smoke and night so far as I saw."

    Malakk leaned back and let loose a small sigh that disguised a groan, "I hope they are as good as their word, but even then," he grimaced. "Even then marching on the capital as soon as we can is imperative. They are likely just learning of this defeat as we speak, and I'd not want them to garner any major reinforcements or escape my wrath."

    Moorabi sauntered up and slapped his chest, "We are ready now, Frost King! Let us rally the Legions and sally forth, only a small garrison and some bat riders will be needed to hold this place."

    There was an amused edge to his friends words that Malakk's head was too sore to place as he clicked he hummed. "To ensure a crushing victory we need more numbers. If we began a siege now, we would await reinforcements open and exposed, they could overwhelm or surround-"

    His musing was interrupted by cheers echoing on the coast and the camp. His advisors were smirking and Malakk rose to hit feet with a subtle groan and was greeted by the marvelous sight of reinforcements fading into the view along the coastline.

    Gal'Darah sauntered up to his side and chuckled, "You were in the healing trance when word came, and we thought you might enjoy a surprise."

    Malakk's shoulders quaked and he steadied himself on his throne, "You are damn right I do." He cast a glance back at his advisors and bared his fangs.

    "Rally the Legions, we march at dawn."

    Teranas marched through the harried halls of his castle, his poise belying the horror and disquiet running through his mind as soldiers' voices rose high in the city streets.

    Word of the battle had started to filter in mere hours ago and what few survivors had been able to make it to the capital via magic painted a grim picture indeed. The fact this news had been followed by scouts reporting a troll army marching on the capital as dawn broke had been just another blow amongst many.

    His heart ached to know Uther had fallen, but sorrow was carved out to make room for shock and strategizing. Such a loss, such a sudden march and with only a handful of survivors?

    'Either these trolls have scarcely stopped marching since the battle was done and wiped out any survivors. Or that the flames harried them so far from the capital that they could not make it back in time!' Either options foretold of the enemy's strength, though a part of Teranas prayed for the former, for while brutal and terrible it would at least mean they would be exhausted when they arrived at his gates.

    'Just a week, maybe two and no army of this world shall be able to stand against the forces of the Alliance. We just have to holdfast,' He told himself as he strode into the palace libraries and furrowed his brow.

    "What is happening? Why is my family still here?" Teranas asked, ignoring the babbling Quel'Dorei diplomat and focusing instead on the Violet Citadel's representative, an alleged master of teleportation and portals.

    The tall man, with a violet eyed tabard and sharp helm, clutched his staff tightly and moved to speak, only for Arthas to try and barrel passed him.

    "The mage cannot conjure a portal; I am going to the front!" he called.

    "Stop him!" Teranas bellowed, and just at the last moment his escort sealed the door shut and the sound to Arthas's fist colliding with their chest plates rang out.

    "Your prince demands you move! They killed Uther! We should all be fighting!!" He shrieked.

    "My son, stop this," Teranas begged, Lianne appearing at his side as Calia went to her brother to try and sooth him only to nearly be slapped away.

    "Why will you not let me fight?! Magroth, Halahk, Dagren, all of them fight to avenge Uther! You allow them to fulfil their oaths as Paladins, but you try and hide me away like a coward!"

    "That is enough, Arthas, do not speak to your father so cruelly," Lianne said.

    The boy barely even drew back, blazing blue eyes glaring at Teranas as though he had personally felled Uther.

    "My… Arthas," he said, haltingly, "You are trained in the ways of a Paladin and mourn your mentor, but you are also a prince. If the enemy breaches these walls too soon we all may die here and with it our line will end, our nation will fall. You must survive more than any of us to fight on for Lordaeron, for Uther."

    Arthas stilled, a gruesome frown adorning his usually soft features as he spat, "The mage cannot make his portal, I want to join the Circle_of_Holy_Light, or Crippling_Force and fight for my kingdom now."

    Teranas's gaze snapped to the magus once again and he said, "Why is that ambassador? Your skills were said to be renowned."

    The man bowed and said, "I can conjure a portal King Teranas, but there is… Interference. The enemy is disrupting the flow of energies between this place and Dalaran. I could not guarantee if any who stepped through the portal would arrive in Dalaran, or the middle of the ocean or even remain on this plane of existence, let alone survive."

    "How many mages do you need to fix this?" He asked.

    "Perhaps if we mount a great many mages working on separate portals one will be stable enough to use safely. But few among us possess the skills for such work and even if we did that would take forces away from the walls," he shrugged helplessly.

    Lianne's hand rested on his shoulder as Teranas weighed his options, hands clammy as he sucked in a breath and whispered. "Take my elite guard, as well as any mages, students or noncombatants slated for evacuation. Use the old tunnel escape routes and try one of your portals at every stage, there must be a range to their spell."

    "I shall at once your grace, do you wish to join me diplomat?" He asked the elven man who was frantically tapping his foot and looked ready to spit.

    "I refuse to believe the trolls could muster such magic, try again"

    "I will not, for I am confident stepping through the rift would kill you."

    The elf sneered, "I-"

    "Enough! Both of you, we have not the time for this!" Teranas bellowed.

    He turned to face the doorway only to find it was now Arthas blocking his way and his escort looked at a loss. Standing in the way of their prince was one matter, physically moving him rather another.

    "You want us to run like cowards!" He snapped petulantly.

    Biting back a sigh, Teranas clasped his son's shoulders only to feel his hands slapped away.

    "He wants you to live, Arthas," Lianne cut in, grasping at his balled fist as if to hold him by from another strike.

    Calia watched them, wide eyed and wary, her voice gentle, "Arthas, please, father is trying to do what's right for the kingdom."

    "He is-!"

    "Your king and giving you an order, Paladin," Teranas stressed.

    Arthas froze and Teranas pushed forward, gaze locked with his son's as he spoke sharply and swiftly, leaving him no room to think.

    "You are being given an order not by your father but by your liege, that order is to accompany and escort the civilians from this city before it becomes a battlefield and if worst comes to worst, defend them with your life."

    Seeing his son was not yet convinced Teranas rose to his full height and added with faux affability. "You do however have the choice to continue raging and instead be carried unconscious alongside them. Exhausting soldiers, slowing everyone down and being helpless should you be found. Make your choice."

    Arthas looked ready to fume, to snap and scream, only to suddenly go very cold and mutter, "I want something more than my training hammer."

    "You will have the hammer Uther intended to gift you when you took your oath, my guards shall escort you to it," Arthas looked at him starry eyed for a moment and Teranas waved him on, guards trialing out of the library at Arthas's side.

    His guard captain lingered and Teranas signaled, 'You know what to do' to the man and watched him bow, before offering his hand to Callia who took it and they raced to follow Arthas.

    As everyone within the library hastened from the room, he felt Lianne's hand come to rest on his back as she whispered, "You should be joining us, your children need their father, your nations its king."

    He stepped away from her, head shaking, "A prince can survive without a palace or crown, he can reclaim them, but a king who flees his throne cannot. I may not be able to fight at the gates anymore, but I will not be driven from my home by these savages."

    "Ter-."

    "Go, the children will need their mother by their sides whatever is to come."

    She looked ready to argue, when he said, "That was not a request, queen mother, go."

    Stepping back, she curtsied and brushed his lips with a kiss before joining the last remnants of his honor guard and disappearing towards the chamber halls, while Teranas marched back to his throne room.

    'I am just being cautious, the trolls have never shown such magics or numbers before, they cannot win here, not easily. We just need to hold out long enough for Saidan Dathrohan and the likes of Ballador_the_Bright and Sage_Truthbearer to arrive.'

    He could only hope that more would come after that. Word had been sent to every noble house in the kingdom of the attack, but only Uther had thought to send for reinforcements. Duke_Falrevere, Lord_Agrovane, the Abbendis family, Riverdare and Barov's, all would hear of this, but they did not command military garrisons as the Silver Hand did. If they were to march, they would need to raise a host in the beginning days of winter and march.

    Time was against them.

    It was against them all.

    Tuning out Garithos's thundering voice as he and the Paladin commanders readied the city for battle, he took his throne.

    'But we just have to holdfast,' he told himself again.

    NOTES:

    So, a lot is happening this chapter, it actually went through substantial rewrites after some feedback on the last one to better try and contextualize what I am going for in terms decision making. Hence Teranas discussing the assumption this wasn't a 'real' invasion and Uther's hastily made up counterstrike force, as well as me delving into my HC about the WC3 Regional Defenders being the 'standing army' but only the size of a reserve force due to the nobility & also costs. Lordaeron grappling with monetary issues due to the Second War, Expedition to Outland and Internment Camps were issues the Scourge exploited after all and they won't vanish just because the Cult never formed.

    I tried to give a distinct personality to each of Teranas's advisors, be it blending Garithos's prejudice and blustering manner with the at least somewhat shrewd general he logically had to be in order to lead so long and so successfully in WC3. As well as making Dagren the most long term thinking and ruthless (He did survive the fall and eventually went to Kul'Tiras after all), Meanwhile Mograth was the most noble and protective in reflection of his easy loyalty, ahile Halahk is the more temperamental as his dialogue suggests a lot of anger.

    In the Malakk section I finally got to introduce Whitemane and show the fallout from the fight, Malakk's benched for awhile yet and the sudden strike from Arctikus's forces really rattled the already shaken army, and exacerbated many's fears because they were becoming surrounded. Also got to expand on the stuff I hinted at with Mahlor too, which was nice and hint at some plot developments, hehehe. Some people theorized something last chapter and they were very close but going in the opposite direction I hope it works XD

    One thing I am really trying to sell here is that this war caught the Alliance flat footed, while the Drakkari have been preparing for years, however they are burning through their advantages extremely quickly in order to maintain momentum. You can only pull the "I actually had dragons waiting in the wings the entire time!" trick once after all. Anyway, thanks for reading and please share your thoughts!
     
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    • Interlude: Moments in War
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    • Interlude: Moments in War​
    Burx hadn't had an easy life.

    Plucked from obscurity in the camps and kept by the Agamand as something between a guard dog and be-loathed pet.

    His name had been 'berk', an insult he found out from his brief passing's between the house and the labor camp where a kindly old orc whispered to him the secrets of their tongue.

    'Berk is an insult to them yes, but it sounds like Burx, no? To us that is one who is sturdy, doesn't wail or whine when danger comes, someone with a stiff jaw. It fits you well, young one.'

    Since then, he had taken to the name, even if only in his own mind. Any efforts to assert himself in the home left him at best, battered or covered in waste and worst, left outside in the rain and cold, as well as wounded.

    A stiff jaw wouldn't help him if he died, but some days he had thought to welcome it.

    Death had always seemed restful, but fate had never been so kind.

    Until the day the Drakkari arrived.

    They came with great ceremony, with songs and shrieks that echoed across the mountains, in ships that loomed as large as those of the Horde of old!

    The humans tried to fight, but all their shining steel and black bullets could do was amuse the giants who rained down fire and fighters from the sky.

    Burx had seen the militia men burnt and broken with contemptuous ease and could smell his owners house burning.

    When Devlin tried to flee with him, intent on using Burx like a guard dog, he did not wait. He grabbed the boys head and snapped his neck. Then, took up the fool's mace and freed himself.

    What followed was done almost in a daze, maybe it was a vision from the ancestors, maybe he was just drunk on the fumes of alchemical flames.

    He wandered outside, bloodied and deaf to the quieting fighting and roaring flames. He ignored the captured humans and the trolls investigating the camps.

    He found the first Troll he could, barely aware of their startled expression as he tugged on the metal collar around his neck.

    It was pathetically feeble, but he did not care, and neither it seemed did the troll, as a sort of disgusted horror spread across those sharp features and was directed at the fearful humans.

    The next thing Burx knew the troll was grasping the heavy black metal and there was a strange squealing, screaming sound followed by a thrum as they ripped his collar off.

    Burx had never felt so light, and he had never stood so tall as when he collapsed against the troll sobbing and howling, because for the first time in his life.

    He was free.

    Sylvanas_Windrunner remained austere within the elegant carriage taking her through Eversong.

    "We are speaking not of savage orcs, but trolls, do you think they would leave us be?"

    "That is not even a question, these are not Forest Tribes so we needn't be concerned."

    "A troll is a troll, shall we repeat the mistakes of the Second War a second time?"

    "Mind your tone and recall that we all agreed to withdraw from that farcical Alliance."

    "Some under justified protest, I would note!"

    "If we are to sally forth south and render aid, we should ensure we are duly compensated. The Eye of Dalaran, or perhaps the Book of Medivh?"

    "We have barely begun to recover from the Second War, we cannot afford such an act, not with the Amani skulking at our border."

    "Another shameful failure that should be remedied."

    "A fine thing for your family to speak of failure-"    ​

    Even now she resisted the urge to massage her forehead at the memory of that disastrous council meeting. "I swear to the sun, I must be losing my mind for I am certain history is repeating itself before my eyes," She muttered to the two men across from her, each reclining against the plush gold cushions.

    Lor'themar_Theron hummed, "Is there not a Human saying to that effect about repeating a failed course of action and yet expecting a different result?"

    Sylvanas snorted, "What would you have me do, slaughter the fools among them?"

    Halduron_Brightwing chuckled, "It would make our lives easier, no?"

    "Do not tempt me, I already want to bludgeon the fool that let these beasts pass, speaking of whom," She cast her gaze upwards at the elegant, domed structures of Sunsail Anchorage.

    Pristine marble and blue sapphire roof's resting comfortably on cobblestone streets of elegant and intricate star-like patterns.

    In the distance and along the coast she was surprised to see as several frigates clearly taken out of storage and being prepared for use.

    The journey to the lords house was surprisingly swift as they pulled up outside the central hub of the anchorage and were politely welcomed outside the oval structure. Though Sylvanas was disappointed to be greeted by Lord_Saltheril the younger.

    The preening redhead bowed graciously, "Truly we are privileged to receive you, honored Windrunner and your noble retainers of course. The house of the Sailing Sun shall do all we can to fulfill your every need for so long as you are our honored guests."

    Biting back her first question, Sylvanas pulled back her blue hood and nodded to the smaller elf, "I am honored to be received with such grace and dignity. Never let an ill word be spoken of your manner young lord, for we are humbled by your grace and by your beautiful home."

    Preening shyly, the youth ducked his head, "The house of Sunsail thanks our beloved Ranger General and if it pleases you, my elder brother shall return… Now it seems."

    Sylvanas had already heard the heavy foot falls approaching as the much larger brother strode into view and dismissed his guards with a wave.

    Broad shouldered and tan in a way only sailor became, with dark red hair that matched his younger brothers in length and severe features, Tirathon cut a far more intimidating figure than his brother.

    "Ranger general, lieutenants, my apologies for my belated arrival, the dock is rather busy this day, but I trust my brother greeted you warmly?" His tone was anything but warm, however it did not seem to be malic directed at her and Sylvanas could hardly be said to care.

    "He did, however I am certain you know this is not a social call, your lordship," she said, bother Haulderon and Lor'Themar bowing respectfully at her back.

    "Indeed not," The man answered, glaring out at the coast. "I would have requested thepatrol ships home to chastise them for their failures already if we had the means to replace them."

    "But the council only maintains enough upkeep to manage trade and pirates," She filled in.

    Tirathon's expression darkened but he nodded, hands clasped behind his back, "I am restoring what I can to good use with our families' funds. Trade with the South has granted us the funds to do that much; still this is a discussion best had indoors and over tea."

    'Away from prying ears,' she mussed, before nodding and following the man inside, "I do not suppose your trade has granted you access to any goblin coffee, has it?" she asked out of habit, that question always threw the stuffier families.

    The younger brother however beamed, "In face we do, a shipment arrived just last month, I shall have the staff prepare a batch."

    'Well, that's my second pleasant surprise this afternoon,' she mused, as the sprightly noble left their company, while Tirathon led them through the dimly lit, martially decorated house.

    Blades and beast heads adorned the walls, even a troll tusk could be seen on display; it was not a surprise, like the Farstriders and Rangers, the navy had never quite lapsed into peace as the mages had. There was always something or someone to fight on the open seas, which was perhaps why Tirathon was more sensible than the insulated magisters and other city dwellers.

    Still, would it be enough? Merely fastening their belts and arming themselves?

    She would ferry any volunteers she could South but that would be but a handful.

    Yet until the council saw reason there was little else could do but brace the nation as best, she could.

    Sylvanas was not one given to prayer. But if she was, she would pray her efforts be enough, pray the council is convinced before Vereesa comes to harm and most of all, pray that it all be unnecessary.

    But fate was rarely so kind.

    Precision and planning were not often things sung of in the tales of bards and poets in tales of gods and fate.

    Oh, one might dedicate several stanzas to the swing of a blessed blade or the scheming of a clever but heroic thief.

    But rarely would more than a single sentence be dedicated to matters like carefully managed food stocks or the building of a dam.

    To Krag'jin, this was a shame.

    It was thanks to he and his Shadowglen factions forbearers precise planning that their ancestors had survived the fall of the Amani Empire and with it their place as the state of Zul-Ashar.

    It was the forward thing and careful plotting of his own forbearers that predicted the oncoming invasion of the Arathi Empire and led them to securing as many of their number as they could in the mountains.

    Keeps, halls, forts and home alike were crafted as a refuge for the nation of Mac-Asha, from which their own descendants had watched the ill fated stand of King Montgomery and the fall of Gaval_Mochto a cursed ruin.

    Who cursed it none can say and the Shadowglen certainly would not be sharing.

    It was because of those generations of work and cunning, that he and his kin still had land and forces to draw on, a fact which they were now using to devastating effect. Krag'jin, like his kin rode upon the back of the long lived Giant_Sea_Turtle across the western coast, bathed in the morning suns light

    The war-lord cast his musing from mind, returning to the moment as a particularly strong, and chilly breeze washed over him. His dark leathers did more to guard against spells and axes than they did the cold, but the stinging scent of salty air was more pleasant to him than a trial.

    Of course, his good mood my have been bolstered by the day's success.

    The lighthouse and humble docks of North_Tide's_Run was now a smoldering ruin and any guard towers and settlements nearby assailed by ogres he had hosted through the winter over several years.

    They were not subjects, but they were happy to be directed at places to raid and pillage that would spare the Shadowglen work and with the Alliance distracted, there was little fear of reprisal.

    If all went well, those ogres and a smattering of local Gnolls would play merry havoc with the North; none among them were fool enough to try their luck against Fenris Keep and Krag'jin was hard pressed to blame them.

    'Still, it shall be enough, even if the Drakkari lose, the humans hold on this place grows ever weaker, Gilneas cowers behind its wall and Lordaeron shall be too bloodied to strike back.' It was a hasty plan, especially by Shadowglen standards, but one mused on for the last six months, as Drakkari shared tales of their land, people, and stratagems.

    Besides, it was clear no one cared much for these forests anymore, Gilneas was proof of that!

    Despite more than enough blood and names shed, lost or stolen over the generations to suggest otherwise, it seemed that the humans and even other trolls cared little for the hardy, rugged forests.

    This was just fine to Krag'jin and his people; they knew the land could be worked and ruled well in the right hands, 'Our own survival says that much if nothing else.'

    The war-lord was drawn from hi musing as a voice whispered on the winds, 'Alliance vessel from the North, sailing in haste!'

    'The Drakkari must have let one slip away,' he answered back, before raising his arm and flicking his fingers through a simple code.

    Within moments, magic washed across his being, suffusing his lungs with divine blessings.

    His mount dived deep below the surface, the salty water breathing to him like air, his kindred following suit and soon enough the depths were filled with troll on turtle back. Hooked spears and axes shone with old enchantments and new runes, gifts from the Drakkari and their Nerubians.

    'Everything comes down to precision,' he mused, watching as the distant Alliance frigate sailed South in a hurried manner. No doubt desperate to reach Fenris Keep or Kul'Tiras.

    That could not be allowed to happen.

    Not if they wanted the Keep as weak as possible when the Drakkari arrived, to ensure the Shadowglen could safely claim their prize while the Ice Trolls bombarded the coastal defenses.

    The ship was nearing, and his mount snapped its jaws, "Yes my Ka'bak, its time," he cooed.

    Clinging to aged leather saddle, Krag'jin and his forces surged towards the ship, writhing tides, jaws of steel enchanted weapons at the ready.

    When they struck, it was sudden, brutal, and precise. Strong jaws tearing through wood, while hooked weapons dug in deep, their magic blistering and warping the wood, weakening the hull.

    The shouts from up above were muffled, but soon enough their work was done; ensuring that another Alliance frigate would join its fellows at the bottom of the sea.

    Drifting to the surface amongst driftwood, Krag'jin watched his fellows' gathering supplies from the sunken ship and finishing off any stragglers.

    "We have done fine work this day!" he called, earning a cheer, "Now let us gather any surviving supplies, and return home. Tal'Vass is waiting!"

    His kin raised steel and staff high into the air and roared with glee, redoubling their efforts to ensure they could return to their hidden mountain homes soon.

    Snatching up a barrel of gunpowder, Krag'jin looked to the looming mountains in the South-West, his mind calling to him images of home. Their intricate mountain paths, the mighty rivers and dams that let the Shadowglen secure themselves and their number not just against invaders but starvation.

    It was a fine place, a fine city, but there was no end to the appeal of escaping this delicate dance that necessitated turning a bind eye to Olsen's_Farthing, let alone the Sepulcher. Or constantly needing to negotiate Gnoll and Ogres into the role of buffers and distractions without losing their accords.

    Precision and planning had taken them far and if the Shadowglen had anything to say about it, they would go farther than ever before.

    'If all goes well, I might have cause to use Gaval Moch as more than a secret storehouse.'

    It was a nice thought at least.

    Thoras swung the training sword through the air, each slash and swing of the blade causing the candles to dance, making his shadow look haunting as he clashed against his imaginary foe.

    He was only partially drawn from his practice when the training hall doors swung open, casting the dark stone chamber, lined with weapons, armor, and held aloft by petrified wood pillars in the brighter lights of the keep.

    "Ah Galen, come to join me for some training?" He called, as the younger man slipped into the room, his thin ashen hair tied back in a long braid and his riding armor on.

    "Actually, father I-"

    Thoras tossed him a training sword and rushed the younger man, their crimson armors cast in stark and menacing light by the candles. Thoras landed the first blow with a clip to Galen's side forcing the boy to hop out of the way.

    "Fathe-" Galen barely blocked the second strike, or the third and when Thoras saw him scampering back, catching his breath and making it harder to swing as he ducked between pillars he lashed out with a fist.

    It was a hard blow, right to the side where the armor connected, the leather strained under his armored fist and Galen gagged as he slammed into a wall before hitting the ground.

    "Come on lad, you can do better than that, you should have tried to break through my guard, not scamper around like some fae duelist," he chided.

    Galen lashed out with a hasty swing of his blade, forcing Thoras to lean out of the way, and his bid to bring his blade down was countered by a fierce tackle, not to sending him crashing to the ground but to knock him aside.

    Galen raced passed him and spun around, teeth set and eyes ablaze.

    "There now, got some fire in your belly. Show me what you can do boy!"

    Their fight lasted for another hour before Thoras declared their training done.

    Now he leaned against the wall, chest still heaving a touch from the battle, but he hardly noticed, too busy admiring his beloved and recently sharpened Trol'kalar. His son sat on a nearby bench, face still drenched from the goblet of water he poured over himself.

    "I actually came to speak with you father" Galen finally said.

    "Well spit it out boy, we don't have all night," he chuckled.

    Sucking in and letting out a low breath, Galen continued, "This plan of yours, to raise a host and march North, I and others are wary of it."

    Thoras frowned, "Oh?"

    Galen licked his lips and pressed on hastily, "This has been a hard few years for us father. The trolls are always scheming, brigands and ogres grow bolder by the day. We are still reclaiming Tol'Barad and work on our fleet is just beginning in earnest thanks to preferencing Lordaeron and Stormwind. Several of the nobles' houses and even some of the commanders and I fear marching North into a winter war is a waste of resources."

    "Is that all, Galen?" He intoned but did not wait for him to continue instead calling out with a mighty boom, "I am disappointed in you, my son. With our bloodline should come gallantry, not this sort of simpering!"

    Galen scowled and rose to his feet, "I am thinking about the good of the kingdom father, the Alliance-"

    "Is our ally, we must help them, you expect me to leave old Teranas in the lurch?" Thoras snapped.

    "Hardly father," Galen hastily retreated from him, "But surely the Stromgarde Defenders would be sufficient? I am certain that a smattering of platoons made up of Spellweavers, Troll Hunters and some Cavalrymen would be enough to fulfill our obligations?"

    Thoras waved his blade through the air, watching the metal shimmer, "We are the family Trollbane my son, and you think us to sit on the sidelines?"

    Galen sucked in a breath, "I will gladly accompany a smaller force into battle with the blade if it meant you would remain here and lead the kingdom."

    Thoras snorted, "Trol'kalar is to be wielded by the king, not a prince pretending to be a warrior."

    "I am not pretending, you are!" Galen snapped, "We need a king! We need a king who puts his nation before Lordaeron rather than acting as a piddling client state! A king who doesn't just surrender our money and our people to bottomless pit that is Stormwind's coffers! We need a king, not a wandering warrior father-"

    "That's enough!" Thoras snapped and he saw Galen brace as if expecting a strike, "I will not stand here and watch my son shame our proud lineage so. We are Trollbane's, our people art of Strom, we are the strongest, fiercest, warriors in the land. We shall survive a few simpering merchants and speckles of gold fleeing South. But we shall die as a people, a nation if we stand aside and led these barbarians plunder our allies while not doing everything in our power to help!"

    "I-"

    "Enough of this!" He snapped, "If you are so overflowing with nervous energy invite that Lieutenant you adore so much to your quarters and get it out of your system. But I expect you to be ready to march when I am!"

    The door swung open with a resounding boom and a runner knelt before them, "My prince, my liege, word from Ironforge!"

    "Ah fantastic!" Thoras cheered, striding out of the training room, and snatching up the missive, barely aware of Lieutenant_Valorcall sliding in as he left, the door slamming shut behind him.

    In the dimly lit chamber, Galen glared at nothing, his gaze shouldering, baleful and bitter in equal measure he snatched up his goblet and launched it into the wall. The sound of shattering glass echoing across the stone as Valorcall shifted to his side.

    "It went poorly I take it?" the man offered sympathetically, clapping Galen on the shoulder.

    Galen let out a heaving breath and ran a hand through his sopping wet hair, "I have not an idea what I was expecting…"

    "Do you wish for a whisper of good news, my prince?"

    "Anything at this point, and maybe a healer too," He winced, hand resting on his side, "I believe he fractured another rib."

    The lieutenant scowled and nodded, "I shall fetch one, but as for the news, Ariana_Thesslocke told me she agrees with your assessment as do many other Stromgarde_Defenders."

    Galen nodded, "That makes her, the Stromgarde_Snipers_Company and a smattering of nobles, not that it means much with things as they are."

    "It is something," His companion said as he made his way to the door, "Whatever you do, I will be by your side, Galen."

    Then he left, the door swinging shut gently, but if one were to glance inside, they would see a small smile on Galen's lips.

    "And thusly, we commit our beloved brother to the Earth. But regret him not, for his soul fades into radiance, his energies shall become one with the Holy Light.

    Lo and behold the eternal glory of the Light, that which's grace is as endless as its power; through this holy union, all things are possible.

    Pray only to The Holy Light, pray fervently to The Holy Light, and lo you shall be rewarded with miraculous illumination.

    Pray not to false idols or for miracles born from naught but desire; for the Lights truth is found in you good works.

    Know, that we among its glory bear a duty to foster its holiness within ourselves, and to share it with the world.

    Thus, stay steadfast in your dedication, refute all evils be they hate or greed or apathy.

    And please, join with me in song, to honor our fallen brother.

    Uther Pendragon, the Lightbringer."    ​

    Sally Whitemane strode purposefully through the halls of the monastery, her head held high and her steps with purpose, hand clutched tightly around her holy stave as she acutely ignored the wandering gaze of the trolls.

    'Think not on what thoughts fill the minds of the wicked, nor fear their sinful touch, for all is purified in The Light.'

    Still her frown grew at that thought, as each step along the pristine blue and gold carpet, through nearly bronze hallways grew heavier.

    Trolls should never be in the monastery.

    Uther the Lightbringer should not lay dead in a tomb.

    And Sally Whitemane should not have had to oversee his funeral!

    She held back a sigh, 'But it is as I told the flock and the faithful. Prayer and desire alone shall not make the world holy or bring about miracles. It is we who must bring The Holy Light into this world, so much that it burns out all that is dark and vile.'

    She did not falter in her steps, nor did she let her eyes linger as she passed by the armory. Once a bastion for training and equipment, now the only place entirely barred to them and under fortified guard by trolls, beast-men, and snake alike.

    Her mind drifted back to the funeral, she had stayed much longer than intended, to comfort the bereaved and organize what she could. Everything needed to be perfect, for Uther but also for their peace of mind.

    Any efforts to circumnavigate his death were for naught, at least for now, but she knew some would ignore that reality, even as her sermon begged they seek other resolutions. Uther's own favored scriptures claimed the same, but even that would not be enough for some.

    'I will be having many of the faithful fall asleep in prayer before they realize we must do more here and now before we can hope to have him restored to us… If ever.'

    Shaking away that thought, her family's namesake flickering in front of her face, she came upon the library. No longer the domain of Brother_Korloff and students of lore, it was now heavily trafficked by the invading heathens.

    'They claim we can still visit if we wish, but they observe every script and tome for enchantments and dangerous 'spells'!' The sheer gall to compared prayers to The Light as mere spells had made her want to find a ladder, reach up and throttle their Grand Prophet!

    Unlike the armory, or even dear Uther's funeral, there was only a small number of guards permanently in the long library, their dark visage cast in crimson light by the hanging braziers. Shelves of books built into every wall, while displays and banners showed art and artifacts.

    The walls within were more rounded than the sharp angles seen in the rest of the monastery, owed to its much older nature having once been a humble church, before generations of work remodeled and expanded it.

    Slad'Ran, one of the heathen prophets and their seeming keeper was there, just as she had been told. Strangely stout by Drakkari standards, he still stood at nearly ten feet, with slicked back pale purple hair, and scaled robes in a dark shade of blue, lined with gold trim and bronze accents.

    His tusks were not as gargantuan as some she'd seen, least of all the bulky barbarian kings, but his features were slim and sharp, akin to a snake. A fact which lined up well with all she had heard from the survivors of his battle with Brother Korloff.

    The troll had been looking through a bark covered tome and glancing upon the stain glass windows when she approached him, causing him to close the book gently and turn to face her.

    "Honored, Priestess Whitemane," he said with a nod, book held against his chest, "Please do not take offence if I say, I hope the last rites went as well as can be expected."

    Sally Whitemane was a talented, devout priestess and a practical woman, but a righteous heart still beat within her chest and so she could not help her answer.

    "Would that we could have mourned our beloved brother in private, but we made do," Her tone bordered on bitter and something akin to sarcasm, she briefly feared a flash of anger.

    However, the troll merely clicked his teeth together, something that took her a week to realize was not actually a threat but how they 'thought'.

    Finally, he answered, "You are an intelligent one, so I will not insult you by claiming to the contrary or acting as though you do not know why we made that decision. Instead, I shall simply ask if there is anything you should need, I imagine we are going to be seeing much of each other before this war is done."

    'And that thought does not fill me with joy,' she mused, still not wholly sure 'why' the trolls had even chosen her, let alone spared she and her kin. Yes, in the past trolls had shown 'some' regard for healers, to protect their own no doubt, but she could not shale the thought they, or perhaps their hulking king desired something else from the people, or her.

    Pushing such thoughts aside, she glanced to the stained glass window the troll had been studying. It was a lovely piece, woven motes of green glass framing the sun, while 'vines' and 'flowers' grew in its abundance.

    "I had heard you had taken to studying here, one among your… Followers, even claimed you wished to speak with me," She answered, resisting the urge to toy with her staff to let loose her nerves.

    "Ah, yes," The troll said, opening his book again and revealing to her a vaguely similar sketching, "This almanac is a copy of a historic tome held by the Amani. It talks of their holy festivals, in particular the Summer Sun Solstice. I was merely comparing the pair."

    "There is no connection," Whitemane said bluntly, "Likely some Amani saw our artistic efforts and made a feeble copy." That was one of the many standards and well-known answers to such ideas, in the old days of the Arathi Empire such an insinuation would have one lashed, now such thoughts were merely impolitic.

    The troll chuckled, "Maybe so, but this temple would need to be quite, quite ancient for that to be the truth of things." He tilted his head to the side and clicked his teeth again, "This is an old place though, not the building but the land, an excellent spot for communing with distant gods I am thinking."

    Her lips thinned, "It is a holy site of The Light, no idols or self-proclaimed deities can be found within these walls or upon this sanctified land." She ignored the way he glanced at the historic displays and pressed on. "The monk Tobias of Tirina achieved his first communion with the Light on these fated hills and shone brighter than any star in the sky. A signal it was here, that the faithful and the flock would find succor and safety in a still dangerous and untamed world."

    Rather than interrupt, the troll seemed genuinely intrigued, humming, and clicking his tongue, those dark snake like eyes watching her intently.

    "Fascinating, I would love the chance to hear more of this. I wonder, ah," He stopped himself and seemed to search for words. "I confess Priestess, I had hoped to avail myself of your people's philosophy and history and did desire your guidance in that, if you or one of yours had the time to spare."

    'We have nothing but time; though I shall not send one of my faithful into your hands,' she thought while sorting through the rest of his words.

    Leaning a little more heavily on her staff, Whitemane answered, "What do you seek to gain from this? The power of The Light will not wane if you know our slaloms or history."

    The troll shook his head, heavy earrings jingling, "This is not for war, it is for understanding and education. To chart the birth of a faith, to see and understand its ideals and what has been shared, taken, or lost…. It is a fascinating thing for a scholar and my patron, the mighty Loa Sseratus is indulgent to the scholarly of mind."

    "Wait," she held her hand out flat, confusion and the need to divert his attention driving her forward, "Gods, or Loa. You have used both words in this conversation alone and many times before. Why do you not simply choose one?"

    Slad'Ran looked almost comically surprised, eyes wide and fangs clacking together as he seemed to struggle with the question a moment before nodding.

    "Oh, I see, I would have assumed you would know, as your lands are so close to the Amani's but it seems not."

    'Close?'

    Slad'Ran was unaware of her confusion and pressed on with a sort of zeal she was accustomed to seeing among priests or scholars asked a question they rarely had the chance to answer.

    "You see, Priestess Whitemane, the being we trolls worship are what you might call… Extra-Planar beings. Some can exist within the world, but usually at their detriment," he added, light dancing between his fingers to show the world and stars in simple form. "Most, however, reside outside and beyond it but are still native to it, born from the world or residing in the spiritual planes that surround it, invisible but everywhere."

    He held up a single finger and leaned forward, before thinking better of it and just nodding, "These are the Loa, native divines. The gods however, hail from beyond."

    His hands went wide, and a cloudy illusion filled the space between them, of a cosmos alight with stars and shadows, as strange phantom faces drifted across the Great Dark.

    "Gods are akin to Loa, but they hail from other worlds and dimensions, places far more distant and alien than we know. Because of this, they are often strange and subtle in their manner. No bonds bind them to our Pantheons, but they are revered and given offerings all the same and grant their boons in return."

    He closed his hands with a clap, the smoky illusion vanishing between his hands as the Drakkari smiled, "That is why we distinguish between them, it is akin to long distance family or foreign allies to use a mundane comparison."

    "I see, thank you," she said slowly, and she did see, which was not ideal for she should not seek an understanding of the faithless and heathenistic.

    The troll grinned, flashing his large fangs, "Consider it repayment for your tale of Tobias of Tirina and this temple. Whatever our differences. The chance to study something so different than what one has ever known is quite a privilege, though…" he added, more gently in that slick, slithery tone, "I imagine it is not appreciated from your perspective."

    "It is not," she said bluntly, before motioning to the window that started this conversation, "Still, if you are curious about the glories of The Holy Light, I can spare time to educate you." She ignored the trolls seemingly bemused expression and accepted his nod as cause to continue and spoke.

    "This window commemorates the life and deeds of one, Bishop Hylan; who, over two thousand years ago codified the first of the Churches doctrines into the first Holy Book. He carried it with him always until parting with it on his deathbed, granting it unto the hands of the Church. To honor his efforts to illuminate the world with The Holy Light, a feast day was organized by the empire to commemorates the anniversary of his birth at the peak of Summer. To quote the old emperor, 'when the light shines brightest in the hearts of men'."

    She ignored the speculative look in Slad'Ran's eyes and the fact his marker still rested on the blasphemous page and pushed forward, leading him to the next window.

    Nazgrel didn't hate his circumstances, he had never had the energy to hate. Even though he was not so stricken by malaise as so many of his kindred, hunger, labor, and the cold stripped him of his motive.

    He resented how humans ate fine feasts in heated forts while he and his kin subsisted on stews and huddled in the cold.

    He disliked how loudly and joyfully humans cheered on their orcish fighting ring, even if he was glad to learn to fight, if for no other reason than a break in endless tedium.

    He could even be said to hate humans, but not his circumstances.

    Humans would be what they were, and Orcs would be what they were.

    He had not the power to change this fate, nor seemingly did anyone else.

    Then the Drakkari came, filling the camp with a dread and terror, he had never seen.

    All of them were forced into their 'lodges' before things truly began, but it did nothing to hide the growing horror.

    Nazgrel watched with his fellows as knights raced out and spearmen lined the walls, while their priests and casters became frantic.

    Then they heard it, over the shouts and gunshots, the sound of a mighty thump, a massive blow of flesh against wood, once, twice, there was no third for the gate split apart.

    Great warriors, feathered beasts and robed figures poured through the gaping wound in the fort, while others climbed up the walls. Steel struck, bones were shattered, and he heard some elders whisper, "Spirits" under their breath, like his mother used to do.

    For a time, he had almost feared these howling monsters would come for them too, or simply replace the humans. But when the slaughter was done, a quick inspection of their quarters saw the trolls, the Drakkari, opening the way for them into the forts and houses once ruled by the humans.

    Now, the sick were being tended to, food and meat dispensed and some, like Nazgrel found a new energy suffuse them. Only a handful perhaps, but each one all the stronger for fighting off the malaise or a life in bondage that afflicted most of their kind.

    Nazgrel knew the Drakkari must see it that way too. For when he approached the local commander with a wood chopping axe he ripped from a stump and offered to fight, there was no jeering amusement of dismissal. Only steely estimation.

    Finally, the giant in ornate armor of the iron-tree clapped him on the shoulder and said, "You will need a finer axe than that, young one. Come with me and we shall see you equipped as a Legionary should be."

    Now he stood, side by side with Orc and troll alike; having marched across fields of ash and planes of grass, they gathered outside the city of Lordaeron.

    'And soon we shall see it fall,' he promised.
    _________________________________________________
    NOTES:
    And that is that!

    Wow, this was honestly quite a fun chapter to write. It gave me the chance to explore several characters and scenes I had wanted to for ages but had no time to and even help better set up some stuff to be introduced next chapter.

    Thanks to all those whose suggestions led to this and for whose who supported the idea, I hope it proved and enjoyable read and if you have any questions, comments, or feedback, please feel free to share them. I'd also like to thank Pillowsperky for helping edit two of these scenes and helping with Uther's sermon and generally letting me bounce ideas of them.

    Some idle additions:
    Burx's backstory is honestly incredibly messed up, so I always feel kinda sympathetic towards him, imagine Thrall but worse and with no positive role models.

    I did not know Lord Sunsail had a brother till I started writing this and had to hastily adjust, but I like the shift, also I took a lot of cues for elven interaction from the Travelogue.

    I ended up expanding on the Shadowglen way more than expected. I always planned for them to be more than just some people hanging around, but I think the world building seen in another work with the forest trolls having fort cities in the mountains of Lordaeron really inspired me. It also meshes well with them raising giant turtles and building dams, you don't do that stuff when your a minor, struggling population and stuff like Gaval Moch gave me plenty of chances to expand on the lore.

    I was never much of a fan of how Galen was portrayed after they decided to make him his fathers killer, so I try and add some additional depth and context to his perspective and circumstances. I also felt that given how quickly Stromgarde folded post Third War, they have to have been struggling before Thoras died and this helps justify Stormwind's bloated population a little. Also thanks again to Pillowsperky for highlighting the whole, Stomgarde had a navy thing XD

    Thanks to Pillowsperky for helping with the speech about Uther, I also got some inspiration from Fate/Zero's Excalibur scene and just my own stuff. One thing UI was trying to emphasize was that from the churches perspective the Light is not there to serve people's whims, miracles happen but you put in work to create a world where miracles can happen. This is Uther's take at least, hence it being one of his favorites and read at his funeral.<br />
    Also Whitemane has some very (OO) ideas about the Drakkari, some born of war in general, some the Second War specifically, some general prejudice and also a decent amount of presumption about what any 'heathen' regardless of species is like. Also the flock and the faithful is born from viewing worshippers of the Light as different than would be clerics of Paladins. Also the comics apparently imply the monastery was abandoned before the Scarlets which was a big ???? to me, I have to assume it was abandoned in the face of the Scourge but that feels weird given what a defensible position it is, so I ignore it.

    The Loa/Gods thing is tied to the fact that in Zul'Drak, there are several dead or dying Loa and also several gods, the Loa were all animals we could converse with, while the gods were represented by stone statues and vague vibes. Add in that Hakkar was called a god but also that no one new where he came from and I extrapolated. Also trolls/Drakkari have a rather specific idea of what constitutes holy in their minds, and the Light kinds confuses/weird them out as it doesn't fit their definition, but they are trying to be polite about it.

    Nazgrel's segment was a natural cap off point that let me establish times passage and re-establish the next chapter. I went with the decision to make him young as I did, cos I find the idea Thrall was literally the only Orcish child in the camps impossible (Especially given Burx) and Nazgrel not being portrayed the same way various veterans are.
     
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    Silverpine Map & Ship Sizes
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    • So I recently posted some very cool maps tot he WOW fic thread:
    Northrend, Eastern Kings, Kalimdor, Samples:
    Hinterlands:

    Silverpine:

    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...

    and cos I liked them so much I decided to use one to mark out Shadowglen territory for funsies, I would have done the invasion but they never did a Trisfal map sadly, but I am pretty pleased with this one:

    The green is Shadowglen the rest is human, though I forgot to mark that little pier on the coast to Fenris Keep.

    I also found this image again which while not wholly accurate as the Drakkari would need something even bigger being more than twice the size of the average human, this is a pretty neat scale reference for ships:

     
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 5 (Kings Clash - Part 2)
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka Part 5 (Kings Clash - Part 2)
    ​
    Arctikus looked to the capital city with a fierce scowl. The shining white towers and high walls casting her mind back to stories told of her ancestor's kingdom before the Dwarves cast them down, driving them into the mountain crags.

    'First we crush your allies, Ironforge, and then we come for you,' she promised. The image of her son's mangled body and severed head flashing in her mind, making her draw back and hiss.

    Running her hand through her white mane, she forced herself back to the task at hand. 'I need to report to Frost King Malakk,' she reminded herself.

    Turning she gave Hala'zhi a nod and they turned their backs to the barriers of wind and holy magic protecting their army from cannon fire and marched towards the meeting area.

    The camp was long since done marshalling.

    Shaman and priests chanted, danced and sang, calling forth their divine power for barriers or the riding storm.

    Legionaries in their fine armor and blades were at rest, but still in rank lines, ready to rise and charge the moment they were called to action.

    Meanwhile the great beasts rallied near the back of the invasion force as artificers and handlers made them ready to break through the walls or enemy fire.

    The rest of the camp was the usual ordered chaos, great tents rose and everything from potion to food were being brewed while scholars and advisors shuffled around in haste.

    At the heart of it all was Malakk, residing on his mobile throne, bristling in vexation at his wounds, but keeping his mind sure and focused all the same. That little half human, half troll scholar was taking back a scroll from the gargantuan Drakkari as they arrived.

    She strode up to the map table laid out before some of the chieftains and higher ranked priests among the legion's leaders, along with the sole Nerubian representative, Seer_Ixit.

    "Ah, Great Mother, Hala'zhi, welcome back. How fares the front?" Malakk asked, his good arm toying with a token as he divided his gaze between the magical map of the city before him and its true counterpart.

    "Frost King Malakk," She and the Forest Troll saluted, before Hala'zhi spoke.

    "Winter remains an ideal time for this invasion, the rains have ensure the lake backing onto the capital is high and the spirits of storm easy to conjure. Your legions need only maintain three camps to contain those within and they seem vexed their canons cannot bypass our barriers." The troll toyed with their furred mane of gold, "Though the fact they are keeping their casters back is odd to this one."

    Arctikus nodded and added. "They have bunkered down with barriers of arcane and light but after their canons did not breach they refuse to engage. Their walls are new, high and adorned with powerful enchantments against brute force or piercing strikes."

    She was surprised to see the recently arrived Zol'Maz speak up, "Doubtless their best fighters wait for us behind the gate, yes? They know we are acting with haste and can plan around this fact."

    Malakk clicked his tongue, glancing to the sky before muttering, "Tis a shame we had to reveal the Dragoons so soon. Quen'Lith did a strafing run and deemed it impossible to break through."

    Hala'zhi huffed, "The orcs war did much to prepare the humans for this possibility, Frost King."

    Tapping his throne, Malakk nodded before continuing. "If they are still using their Light so casually, they must not have gotten word of our Saronite, or think it an exaggeration."

    Arcikus nodded, "The Siege-Breakers think the same, though as they are using it now, even with Saronite, we may only have one chance at tearing through."

    "True, true, if we had we could use it for overwhelming force but we traded much Saronite away and used more for armor than spears; such a shame Otembe could not make his cannon idea work," Malakk hummed. "I don't suppose you have any ideas, Ixit?"

    The Nerubian swayed as if blown by the chill winter wind, rocking in place as it blinked disjointedly and said, "Your empires use of the cursed blood is your own. We may aid you here, but not at our own expense."

    Malakk smirked, "Another way of saying no," He mock whispered, before continuing, "Are the new recruits holding up well?"

    Arctikus shrugged, "Commander Xex'Mon says the Orcs are a motley lot, but seem to be doing well enough, though I think they are undisciplined."

    Hala'zhi chuckled, "The commander is not wrong, but they are an extra few hundred hands if nothing else."

    Malakk's focus had already drifted, looking to Ixit he asked, "You said that your Seers and arcanists were holding up well, is that still true?"

    Ixit hesitated for a time, eyes rolling back as they twitched and shuddered briefly, before answering, "Their interference remains strong, the Nether-Ways between the capital and Dalaran are embroiled and twisted. But the Alliance is working to break through and will succeed if given the time. Familiars also report sign of movement beneath the city, they believe a minor evacuation."

    Malakk growled, "I cannot let their king escape us, the longer he lives the longer this war will drag on, we must be swift and decisive."

    Zol'Maz was scowling, "If so then I think this war should have been conducted faster, or with more preparation."

    "We are more than prepared, you merely hoped us to forsake the crusade entirely," Gal'Darah snapped.

    "What are your orders then, Frost King Malakk," Arctikus intoned before the fighting to press on.

    He looked to the map in thought for a time, before beginning to grin, "The humans have little understanding of Shamans or Loa, still, yes?"

    Hala'zhi let out a raspy, feline like chuckle, "On the battlefield in this number? Most assuredly."

    Garl'Darah perked up, "The word was the walls were strong but the foundations, perhaps less so?"

    Malakk nodded, "Let us pull back our fliers for now and focus our energies on the storm, but relegate more now to shaking the earth, disrupt their foundations and focus."

    '"The spirits are at our side for that," Acrtikus mused, looking to Moorabi, "Do your Taunka have anything else to add to the mix?"

    Moorabi grinned, "Better suit for battle than spirit mixing sadly, but I can check if they brought bound Earth Spirits with them."

    The was a frantic tapping as Elder Shamans Moky tapped their claws on the table, "Something more. Spirit Beasts. Ours, theirs."

    That sparked something in her mind, and Arctikus said, "Shall we have our Waterbinders and Siege-Breakers work with them to get our Saronite Spears close enough to disrupt the gates? If we time it right, we can not only sunder their Light but shatter the walls and surge through the opening."

    Her liege grinned, "It can be as you say, Great Mother."

    "You wish us to adopt an arrow formation then, Frost King Malakk?" She asked.

    The giant troll nodded, "Yes, the longer this goes on the more the humans learn to counter our skills, best we strike hard and fast to keep them off balance. If we break through and onto the main road, it will likely be as Zol'Maz said, their strongest force, but also the heart of much of their defenses. Strike at the wall guardians from behind and we can watch their collective spell work collapse and open many new fronts."

    Malakk sent his gaze across them. "This will rely on timing and precision, so I leave the specifics in your and the others hands. Quen'Lith and her dragoons can guard our backs so take whomever you need, marshal the legions as needed and split that barrier open."

    Arctikus grinned, her gaze drawn to the dark clouds above their heads, her mind thinking of how delicately the city sat upon a raised bed of earth surrounding by waters on so many sides.

    'Fragile to the elements, yes, we can work with this!'

    "It will be done, Frost King Malakk!"

    Dagren the Orcslayer had, had it up to his beard with this war, Garithos's posturing around the common soldiers and worst of all the ignorance of the mage standing in front of him.

    "Paladin," The auburn haired man drawled. "I do not know how things operate in Kul'Tiras, but I assure you our wards can more than handle whatever the trolls can bring to bear upon us. These walls withstood the Horde itself!"

    Repressing the urge to simply bludgeon the old man, Dagren bit back, "The Orcs had a poultry force of powerful death casters. Their magic was suited for rending flesh from bone, not stone from the earth."

    "Be that as it may," The mage answered airily, "We must not divide our attention between the wards and the barriers, lest their dragons return." He gestured behind him to the circle of mages channeling magic from the city square into the swirling barrier of purple above, their magic joining that of their kin along the walls and bastions in the city.

    "Now if you shall excuse me, I must make ready for my shift maintaining the barriers from real threats, and not the trolls imagined spirit gods." He turned to leave and Dagren lost his patience.

    "Listen to me man!" Dagren grasped those blue and violet robes and dragged the fool close enough to loom. "I am not some wet behind the ears boy who knows not of what he speaks!"

    Some of the other mages looked ready to defend their companion, but Dagren's knightly guards trotted forward to stand in their way as he continued.

    "I have dueled sea witches, orcs and horrors from the deep and I am telling you, these trolls will not continue blasting the wall if it remains a waste; instead they will seek to sunder it at the foundations. Now can you give me the mages to reinforce them or not!?"

    The magus tried and failed to rally his pride and gulped, "I can spare some, but it may weaken the barrier when their time comes."

    "The barrier won't be any use if the walls crumble, now rally them so I can get to work."

    "Yes... Lord Paladin."

    Within the dimly lit escape tunnels of the capitals castle, a huddled crowd startled at an echoing, crackling rumble.

    "Did they breach!?" Someone gasped, near stumbling over themselves until Calia placed her hands at their back, gently encouraging them onward.

    "No, no that's thunder, must be a freak storm," One of the guardsmen murmured.

    "A storm, now of all times?" Arthas hissed somewhere at the front, where he aggressively swiped at the masses of web with his hammer.

    "Storms not so bad," Countered the guard captain, "It might stall the invaders a touch, but will make escaping harder once we get to the boats"

    Lianne glanced back at the captain, "Are we at risk of flooding?"

    The man slowed but shook his head, "Not possible my queen, these tunnels are old but well maintained, there should be a system in place.

    Lianne froze and whispered, "If they are well maintained how have they become so overcome with webs?"

    Their procession stilled, Arthas cursing as he yanked his hammer free and nearly fell, only to be held up by a guard.

    "Shine a beacon ahead of us," the captain snapped.

    One of the mages among them did exactly that and they were greeted not by the sight of thicker and thicker webs that almost seemed to glow as they shivered and shook as though filled with thrashing insects.

    "The… Storm?" Calia asked hopefully.

    "No, no this is not natural," The guard captain hissed.

    A voice clicked and rebounded around them in the dimly lit halls, the sound of skittering feet tapping in time with the webs as weapons were drawn.

    "Clever little prey, still outside the heart of our webs, but not beyond our sight. We shall send our familiars to entertain you while the city falls."

    With that, gleaming eyes swarmed into the room, warped, and mutated spiders twitching violently and hissing like snakes as they charged.

    Someone screamed and Arthas called to the Light, their voices drowned out by the crack of thunder.

    Nazgrel was used to feeling crowded.

    The camps had been cramped and over-stuffed from the moment he'd been forced into them as a child and only death had made room.

    He stood among his fellow orcs in the only "Orcish Legion" of the troll's army. It was made up of those who had shaken off the lethargy or like him, never suffered its worst pangs thanks to being young. None had ever told him why that helped.

    They all bristled in the face of cold winds and at the galling sight of the human's city, such gleaming, clean perfections and open space while they had been forced into rotting wooden cabins to slave away their lives!

    Older warriors snarled and growled, barely holding themselves back, their minds filled with thoughts of avenging a passed defeat. The young among them, as far as Nazgrel could tell were caught between trying to imitate their elders or the severe manner of their liberators.

    Nazgrel however was doing neither, his gaze locked upon the robed trolls chanting and dancing, energies radiating from them he could not see yet could somehow feel. He watched as the clouds swirled and writhed around the city, growing heavy and dark, belching out rain and lightning on the magic that protected it as rain began to fall.

    'It's like you said mother, there are spirits in the air.'

    He stepped forward, he broke ranks, barely hearing the words of his fellows as he stepped forward and felt raindrops splash against his cheeks, wanting to weep and roar.

    "Legionnaire, fall in!" Their commander barked.

    Nazgrel looked back at the towering troll, "Commander Xex'Mon, there are spirits, you have spirits…"

    The troll quirked his brow confusedly, "Aye, these ones are different than we're used to, but eager to speak for so few here have listened. You know of spirits?"

    "My…My mother told me of them, before the humans broke her… I never knew if she was right until now."

    Striding forward to clap him on the back with a giant hand the troll said, "They are every bit as real as you or I, and with their aid, we're gonna avenge your ma."

    Lightning crashed against the city's magic and the ground began to rumble, drawing shouts of confusion from the city's defenders.

    "It won't be long now," Xex'Mon murmured.

    Nazgrel smiled.

    Magroth_the_Defender looked down at the amassed army, his heart stirring with anger ill-befitting of a Paladin. His war star mace clutched so tightly his knuckles almost ached as his chest burned.

    "So many, there's so damn many," A soldier murmured.

    "I didn't think there were this many trolls left on the planet, let alone an army," another whispered.

    "Stand fast!" Garrithos bellowed, "We'll cull their numbers back shortly. This is the armies time to shine, don't let these monsters intimidate you, they will break upon our walls with ease!"

    Mograth glanced at the bulky mustachioed man, "You would do well not to underestimate a force that felled Uther the Lightbringer, inspiration is necessary in war, but so too is caution."

    Garithos huffed, "Uther the Lightbringer is to be honored, but he clearly was overwhelmed by their numbers. Why there could well be a hundred thousand surrounding our fair city, anyone could be defeated marching into that unprepared."

    "You accuse him of carelessness?" Mograth groused.

    "No, merely not knowing this enemy," he answered, casually toying with his moustache. "It's as the men said, these beasts should be living in the foothills and caves, not amassing in any real number." The half trained Paladin's smirk grew wide as he jeered, "Look upon what they bring to batter our gate, a mere ballista! Tell me they are anything but a motley crew of animals relying on their numbers?"

    Mograth glared down at the distant but growing ballista, surrounded by a parade of water elementals, and enshrined with a reinforced mobile guard tower on wheels, bearing strange runes.

    "If they have confidence in it, we should view it as a threat," Mograth counselled.

    Only to be waved off, "If you wish to then reinforce the gates then do so, brother, and leave me be."

    Cannon fire rained down but was met with powerful waterspouts that softened their speed, letting them rebound off the siege engines and fall to the ground. All while the stout ballista continued its path, a host of trolls and shaggy furred creatures marshalling at its back while great mounted beasts trumpeted and stomped in the distance.

    Leaping from the walls, Mograth joined Halahk and they raised their weapons high, "Paladins, students of the Silver Hand, reinforce the gates and show these invaders the power of the Holy Light!"

    The pace of the quakes was growing, the storm showed no signs of slowing, the winds howled, and the gates of the city pulsed with lavender and golden light.

    Arctikus could feel the rhythm of the battlefield take hold as Shaman's chants and Priests prayers rose high. Offerings to Shango and the Drakkari Pantheon were laid low upon makeshift alters as warriors began chanting, "Dra-Kar-Ri" over and over to the sound of thumping feet.

    Zol'Maz at her side, his Iron Tree armor resplendent, his heavy axe in hand and his body pulsing with a crimson light.

    The Great Mother clutched her Saronite tipped spear and marched at the back of the siege engine, letting the sounds of mounting war and thrumming energies of battle suffuse her being when-

    The lightning comes, the earth shakes, her eyes flew open.

    "FIRE!"

    The trolls within did not hesitate to obey and with a snap the Saronite infused ballista, shining with emerald runes and tipped with the pulsing black metal was loosed.

    It soared with neither resistance nor support from the air, its presence a near figment before it pressed against the barrier, devouring magic, piercing the enchanted gates and rupturing the light.

    What followed was like a scream.

    Golden flames howled, stone and wood was shattered and splintered as the barriers broke and a blast of force was let loose upon the city's defenders for which none were prepared.

    The humans were not granted a moment's respite.

    The earth beneath the gates towers ripped and sundered, swallowing and disgorging stone as the world itself seemed to shake apart. The lightning barreled down crackling and lashing around the streets and disrupting the hurried mages bid to block their way.

    No order need be given to unleash the second wave, as a horde of screaming elements savage spirits and conjured monsters swarmed around them like howling winds.

    But the Alliance was rallying, even as the spectral force burst into the city, clawing, flying and slithering their way up the walls and intent on washing over the marshalled soldiers like a wave-

    They were being stopped.

    The rallied troops stood ready, mages and priests let loose their spells to defend their brethren on the gates and at the forefront stood twin paladins in resplendent armored robes; star mace and long sword raised high, a golden barrier burned away at all that dared approach them.

    "Charge!" Zol'Maz bellowed.

    The stampeding rhino behind them forced them to part, its armored frame shaking the earth as well as any spirit and forcing even the Alliance to brace while those on the walls struggled to find purchase.

    As it crashed against their shield the world seemed to shudder and shake before a glowing golden mace swung and with an explosive crack obliterated the beasts head. Its riders furious leap to avenge their mount was met with a single slash from the other Paladin and the Drakkari was burnt to ashes in a wave of gold.

    "We must take them," Arctikus hissed as she began to run.

    "I will take the blade," Zol'Maz intoned, his personal guard racing behind him, while Earth Shaking Dire Trolls at hers while snapping raptors and Frozen Warlords nipped at their heels.

    The twin defenders, in their resplendent blue regalia, the mace wielder roared, "Come vile invaders! Face we the Defenders of Justice and the Circle of Holy Light, face Magroth and Halahk!"

    The soldiers rallied and the twin paladins braced to meet them, the mages frantic efforts to reinforce the gate not swift enough to stop their charge as Arctikus roared.

    "Come then champion, you face the Great Mother Arctikus and the Warlord Zol'Maz!"

    Carried on cold winds they vaulted forward, the twin paladins charging to meet them, only to leap between the other at the last moment.

    Zol'Maz snarled as the star mace crashed against his heavy axe, their clash tearing at the cobblestone as Magroth's body was encompassed in a golden aura to match Zol'maz's crimson.

    Actricus hissed as she weave around sharp slashes of Halahk's blade. Fate seemed to smile as she struck the golden sword with Saronite steel only for the man to use the burst of force to spin around and deliver a blistering cut to her cheek.

    All around them soldiers were beginning to clash, the Alliance desperate to stem the tide and Drakkari equally desperate to not let the breach seal.

    Few had the strength or speed to survive getting between the champions bouts. Arctikus knew she could do little, but leave the battle to the commanders and chieftains as she braced for another bout.

    Cariel Roame was not a commander, she was barely a Paladin, but the trolls outnumbered them -Which still felt like madness to say- and reinforcements were at least days away.

    Their commanders had a plan though, to turtle up and wait out the siege, then spill forth and crush the enemy when reinforcements came from all sides.

    But as her father often said, only fools have one plan and their commanders were anything but that.

    If, if the trolls breached, the elite orders would hold main street and bear the brunt of the invaders mightiest vanguard. If they couldn't wholly force them out, they'd slowly stagger back, allowing reinforcements to strike from the East and West streets.

    This plan was bolstered by having sharp shooters and mages on the roofs to rain down death on the enemy; trolls never fought in cities so Lordaeron was at the advantage.

    'Working like a charm!' She thought, swaying out of the way of a Dire Trolls swing, its body so wide and muscles to large she practically filled the street!

    But it did not save the troll, guttural roar escaping her maw, spearmen pierced her wrists and twisted their blades in. The knights binding the steel to their mounts as her reactions were slowed by mages.

    Cariel raced forward, leaping off the trolls knee, her arm and into the air she swung her hammer and watched the trolls head go flying!

    The troll fell back towards her kin with a slam and Cariel landed with a huff, 'I wonder if this is how Gnomes feel?'

    She had no more time to thin, brushing her drake braids away from her face, she hopped back hastily as dark armored warriors burst onto the field.

    'We know of your metal now!' She thought, watching as whips and nets were deployed to bind the trolls so arrows and daggers could be driven through the slots in their armor.

    She was drawn from the foray when a scream struck her ears, one among many but-

    She cast a glance behind her and her eyes widened as a mage fell from the roof, a snake clinging to their neck. Then watched as a troll burst through the wooden roof of a house and wrapped his giant hands around two archers waists and dragged them down.

    Her gaze drifted and she could see more swarming the walls, equipped with climbing equipment like spiked shoes and gloves letting them crawl on walls like spiders.

    A snarl caught her attention and she raised her rounded shield just in time to stop a lightning strike as furry little creatures the size of Dwarves began lashing out from the alleyways.

    'Maybe we shouldn't have assumed they didn't now how to fight in cities,' he thought bitterly, racing after the leather armored beasts with a pair of footman.

    'But that alone won't win you the war!'

    Gal'Darah's stood atop the central siege engine besieging the West Towers. At his back was a priest of each of the Pantheon. All accompanied by a Shaman, while a Legion of them gathered at their backs along with the soldiers, chanting and singing and dancing!

    HIs vision swam with divine ecstasy.

    The world a myriad of shifting, rippling, light and color.

    The souls before him, harried and confused were laid bare, while his kin formed a divine chorus.

    Beneath his feet the siege tower rumbled, disgorging cannon fire and spears in equal measure at the mightiest towers, while the storm above let loose bolts of lightning and the ground roared.

    There was no need to raise new spirits in this place, so long ignored they danced and sang at the sensation of his mind mingling with theirs and roared to be heard for the first time in millennia.

    The Legions chanted and cheered, giving their voices to the cause as Gal'Darah swayed and swung his arms; the mad conduction of one possessed with divine mission. Tears of blood spilled from his glowing eyes and in his maw and through his veins a vengeful light shone.

    Another chant, another prayer, another roar and ground beneath the tower turned to mud, draining with it the stone slabbed streets and forced fortifications of ice and magic meant to hold them in place.

    The tower strained but the chorus of the skies sang their song of death and Gal'Darah's hands lashed out with a single strike and pierced the straining shield. Lightning running along the tower walls side, the brick ruptured and sundered at least and the white tower fell.

    Another bastion for the barrier mages gone and with it, the West district lay open to them.

    Down bellow Chieftain Krol'Ton roared, "Make for the breach, before their barrier reforms!"

    The earth shook, lightning crashed against the city's defenses as cannons roared and the army flooded the streets.

    Bloodlust was already beginning to take some of his fellow orcs, but Nazgrel kept his focus on their commander.

    The trolls gleaming white armor making him stand out as they barreled through the gaping wound in the cities wall..

    "Follow me, to the Grand Garrison!"

    Nazgrel raised his war-blade high and roared in time with the thunder.

    Dagren the Orcslayer bit back a curse, 'Just another hour to bolsters the streets, if only we'd had some of those damned Water Priests!'

    But lamentation did not save lives and so he drew his war glaive and bellowed, "Rally, rally to me and plug that wound in our walls! Reform the barrier from the Grand Garrison!"

    In the distance he heard the familiar roars of 'Lok'Tar Ogar!' and frowned, 'Bolstering their forces are they?' If that were the case it was not just a question of trolls but how many enemies the Alliance might face.

    As the tide of spirit beasts and roiling elementals stemmed, followed now by a wave of blue and green warriors and casters, Dagren braced for battle, even as his mind plotted far, farther ahead.

    'Even if the city falls, the Alliance will not!'

    The battle had been slipping away from Arctikus, she wasn't sure how or when. The Drakkari were advancing in yes, but it seemed a dozen duels were taking place on streets and rooftops. The sheer chaos was almost overwhelming!

    "Ah!" Another flash of light to her eyes forced her to focus as she deftly dodged Halahk's following strike and skidded along the stone streets.

    She could see him charge again and met her spear with his blade but there was no flash of explosive Shadow and Light. Her strike glanced off and he was getting in close, a gash along her belly forced her back and to guard.

    He struck.

    This time there was a blast, but while he braced for the shock, Arctikus did not and let out a guttural shout as her arm snapped from the force, spear launched free as she was sent staggering back.

    Halahk flung himself into the air, golden wings carrying him aloft; Arctikus drew her crystal dagger and braced for battle.

    Only for a bulky shadow to leap between them, with shaggy fur and a massive carved totem for a weapon.

    Halahk struck but his Light clashed with the spirits of Taunka ancestors and lost, his wings flared as the howling ghosts roared and forced him to drift back.

    The strangely deep and melodic calls of the Taunka Shamans filled the air and a host of Spirit Beasts, Shoveltusks, Rhino, Leopards and more surged into the street. Halahk's mages met them with walls of conjured ice as they fell back another block.

    They were winning this... Slowly.

    Arctikus bit back a hiss as her shattered arm dangled at her side, 'If I find that Paladin again, I shall run him through.'

    Meeting the furred face of the Taunka she forced a grin through the grimacing pain, "My thanks," she said, taking back her spear from another.

    "Think little of it, Drakkari," The Spirit Warrior intoned, "Where shall we strike?"

    Glancing around and only half paying heed to the Taunka shaman trying to set and heal her arm, Arctikus mused that question and cast her gaze to the still purple tinged sky.

    "We need their mage force gutted before we can truly take the city," She muttered, eyeing the purple tipped mage tower practically humming with Arcane magic.

    'If I waste this spear and we lose it, the castle might become fortified, but if this goes on we'll be worn down!' It was an easy choice to make, really.

    Raising her spear high, the spirits lifting her voice aloft. "Saronite Ballista forward, warriors, clear us a path to crack open the mages tower!"

    "Hail Chieftain!" the warriors roared, as a mammoth let loose its trumpeting call.

    Axes had never been Magroth's primary weapon, but after he had lost his Star-Mace fighting the Drakkari Warlord, he'd had little choice but to take up the injured trolls weapon.

    And as he raced up the steps of the wall to see a troll clambering over the edge, only to let the axe loose and bury it in her skull, he decided that decision had been a wise one.

    Before her body fell, he yanked the crimson touched axe from her head and beheaded another troll clambering over the walls, their shield not saving them.

    All around him the streets were in mounting chaos.

    Garithos had been blasted apart with the gates which had undermined command.

    Halahk had been driven deeper into the city and making his way to the Market Square to guard the mages.

    Light only knew where Dagren was and all the while soldiers on the wall were still trying to blast away at the invaders.

    The cannon fire was almost deafening, but it was little compared tot he trumpeting calls of the war beasts.

    Grrasping the nearest cannoneer, he bellowed, "Leave the cannons!"

    "But Lord Paladin, they are breaching the city!"

    He grasped the younger man's shoulder, "They know the shots are coming, these will do no more good. We are falling back to the second layer before they push too deep into the city, and I need help evacuating everyone while the mages ready the secondary barrier!"

    That was when Saronite steel struck the great mages tower of Lordaeron, as fire and lightning rained down on the barrier and one too many mages was struck low.

    That was when the barrier started to break.

    Dagren's battle had seen he and his forces driven further and further back.

    A bid to hold the garrison had lasted for a time, but they lacked the numbers and experience to stop the stone turning against them.

    Now he duels along the city walls, the 'Drakkari Chieftain', a hulking warrior who had sworn revenge for his murdered mount.

    His gold-black armor blazed as he swung his mace, each of them bloodied and battered from the days events but-

    The barrier shattered, unveiling to all the stormy skies above and with it, the promise that every Alliance soldier was now a target for the wicked storms.

    The Chieftain cackled, "The war is done, Paladin!"

    Draconic screeches rose high in the air, the rumbling finally ceased, only for the skies above to crackle as their priests and shamans shifted their attention.

    "The battle maybe," He murmured as the troll charged him.

    Dagren weaved around the strike, letting it glance against his chest plate and kicked off from the ground, one arm snaking around the blade.

    The troll was stunned only now seeing he had been played the fool but too late as Dagren let loose a hammer of light at the chieftain's feet, an explosion of force sending both of them toppling off the battlements and towards the lake below.

    'I am a son of Kul'Tiras, I can survive the water,' he thought to himself as the troll desperately struggled after him.

    "We die together!" The troll cackled.

    "No," Dagren answered, a burst of Light enshrouding his frame moments before they crashed against the water, the bubble absorbing the force while the troll's body snapped.

    Surfacing, Dagren kept himself close to the rocky peninsula upon which Lordaeron city sat to keep himself afloat.

    'The city is yours, but not the nation, not the Alliance.'

    Teranas froze on his throne at the sensation of the air cracking in accordance with lightning.

    Like shattered glass and storming gales, the wind cried as the barrier around the city was not just pierced but shredded. Its magic writhing and lashing across the skies before fading like the evening sun.

    Pressed against his throne, he bared his teeth as windows rattled and cracked, mutterings, "Guards… Guards!"

    Trumpets bellowed and he snapped, "Be ready to die holding this chamber!"

    Malakk watched the barrier splint and break with a satisfied nod, letting a wave of magically enhanced wind wash over him like a wave, blasting back his mammoth's fur as the beast bellowed as if to compete with the sound.

    Tapping the throne and motioning Moorabi to march them forward, Malakk roared, "Legions of Zul'Drak, descend upon the city, we end this war, now!" On his back, grasped tightly in his left hand, Zerat seethed.

    The Legions acted as one.

    Be it in the skies,

    Quen'Lith smirked, lucky bone necklace intertwined with her fingers as she roared, "Dragoons, descend on the palace, do not let them erect another barrier, Shriekers guard our backs against their Gryphons!"

    Upon the earth,

    "Our Frost King demands we march, so remember the plan, encircle their church, we cannot let it become a home to resistances!" Gal'Darah bellowed as he and Batu charged towards the capital.

    Or within the catacombs,

    "Take the royal family, and the elf, now!" Anok'suten decreed, warriors swarming through steel and flames to their targets.

    Brushing off his dented armor, Zol'Maz spoke with grim certainty as he motioned his army forward. "Maintain ranks, barriers and shields ready, wear them down and give no relief!"

    The mages could not cast in time, the paladins and priests were to spread out, the Wildhammer shamans too few and too distracted. With such losses the walls would hold for only a time on their own.

    Waves of legions unleashed their fury upon enchanted stone like a howling hurricane, sundering and shattering the walls as more and more raced through the city gates or climbed over the fortifications.

    From upon his mounted throne, Malakk's gaze was set upon the shining palace, unwavering, unyielding and unforgiving as an executioner's blade.

    Teranas could not say how long it had been, but surely it could not have been so quick?

    It seemed as though one moment their defenses had held, the next it had broken and they were inundated with dragons on the towers and warriors at the walls.

    Every magus was in play, every paladin in the fray and every soldier at work trying to hold back the massive assault on the castle, with only a small host trying to hold the throne room doors that creaked and thudded with the troll's assault.

    'Surely they could break in elsewhere, but if they want to make this symbolic, let them. The more time it buys the better.'

    It was not to be long however; a glint of steel glimmered as it pierced the door and while forced back with a pulse of magical lightning it was but a prelude to the true breaker.

    Teranas could hardly believe his eyes as his throne room was split open by a monstrously large beast that could scarcely fit through the grand double doors. Mighty, metal adorned tusks slashed through the air sending soldiers to their backs. A snake like nose lashed out as though a whip and it bellowed at the mages on the balconies surrounding his throne room.

    The sound was echoing and booming in the closed hall, windows shattered and a deafening ringing sung out.

    Teranas watched, head aching and rising from his throne as three trolls leapt from the beasts' head.

    The first was sharp and lean, wielding twin daggers he cackled and pounced upon the nearest mage.

    The next was a troll in all crimson regalia, wielding a giant blade of flames that cut down the first guards unlucky enough to rush them.

    The other wore thick robes and strange armor; a spear was deflected off her stone shield, and when the knight tried to draw it back, she grasped it. The winds howled, pulling the guard forward and letting her drive her war hammer into his stomach, sending him crashing into a balcony like a ragdoll.

    The shock wore off and more troops barreled in from the halls, but it had been too late the moment the doors were breached. Now a blue sea of trolls swarmed into his chambers, filling the halls, and swarming the balconies.

    From atop the beast, on a throne of stone rose the tallest among them. He walked gingerly down the bowing beast's head and stepped off ever so lightly. A strange multi-pronged sword in one hand, he seethed, giant tusks glinting in the flashing light outside as his eyes swam with hatred.

    The troll kicked a fallen spear to him, hissing in rough common, "Ready a weapon little king, for justice has come and I'd give you a fairer chance than you gave my friend and Speaker, Malaka'Raz!"

    'Oh...'

    All at once the reason for this became startlingly clear and all of it too late to help them.

    Sucking in a breath and rising to his feet, Teranas said, "I suppose solving this in a civilized manner is no longer possible."

    The troll scoffed, "You saw to that."

    Licking his lips and ignoring the desire to curse his circumstances, Teranas took up a fallen guards spear. 'The longer this battle lasts, the more time my family has to escape.'

    "I was never much for fighting, but I will not let you take my home without a challenge!" He shouted, aiming the spear at his foes throat, and racing forward.

    The blade writhed as if alive, flashed through the air, in one stroke it cut the spear in twain, but Teranas did not have time to think, as the troll blurred passed him and struck.

    He felt a deep, burning pain and then…

    Nothing.

    The shouts of horror and rage from the Alliance soldiers barely registered to Malakk. He was too busying biting back the surging pain in his side and marched up the steps of the fallen human's dais to sit before his too small throne.

    "Crush whatever soldiers remain and find me every record, diplomat and royal you can," he ground out.

    "Hail, Frost King Malakk!" His soldiers cheered, washing over the remaining resistance within but a moment and surging through the castle halls like a flood.

    Taking deep shallow breaths, Malakk used Zerat to scoop up the king's crown and rolled it between his fingers as the sounds of battle still raged outside.

    'Malaka'raz, may you know serenity in this justice, my friend.'
    __________________
    NOTES:
    Well there you have it, the Drakkari accomplished one of their most primary objectives and have also burnt through basically all their surprise bonuses and secret advantages. Because the Alliance now knows how the Drakkari fight, the kind of magic and numbers they can bring to bear and there's no way to pull surprise dragons a second time, so unless the Drakkari leave now or adjust their strategy the war will grow much, much worse as the Alliance forces are rallying.

    Much of this chapter was recently written content, discussions with others made me realize I really rushed this chapter and I wanted to both show more of the battle and strategies on display, as well as show the Alliance getting their licks in despite being heavily outnumbered at this stage. Honestly Dagren getting away is a recent shift so we'll see how much if anything that changes, but its rooted in the fact the guy just kept surviving in WC3, so I interpreted him as a serious minded type who knows when to fold-em. Morgrath and Halahk are more fight till the end types but I didn't want to break the flow by dragging that sort of thing out on screen, and who knows they might have been captured.

    As to the magic on display, well consider this the Shamanistic equivalent of what the mages did in the Troll Wars; plus as noted the Alliance hasn't had to deal with strong Shaman, let alone an army of Shaman for generations so their wards were ill prepped for these kind of attacks. Also for those who requested it, I tried to include more Taunka and also some Wolvar! Also thanks to Pillowsperky for reminding me the spirit beasts exists, that and Ganonso's work gave me a lot of inspiration for new ways for the Drakkari to use line and siege breakers without taking direct causalities.

    Also while not a main thing, one aspect I always feel the need to note is just how stupid big Drakkari are, hence being able to grab people by the waste with one hand or a Dire Troll basically filling a street XD Also I recently learned siege towers mostly held ballista, archers and cannon recently, so that was fun.
     
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    • The Invasion of Rohk'aka - Epilogue
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    The Invasion of Rohk'aka - Epilogue



    A dozen images, a hundred whispers and a thousand thoughts vanquished in an instant with the cracking of glass.

    Demetria's lips thinned as she gazed upon the results of her handiwork, 'My lord gifted that to me, I am loathed to waste his kindness.'

    But it couldn't be helped, the creatures had seen to that and now she must see to her duties, no matter their ill tidings.

    Flexing her fingers and uttering a prayer that could not be heard, the remnants of her orb were engulfed in shadow and with it any remnant of her foes essence was swallowed by reality's dark reflection and thus subsumed into nothingness.

    Drawing in a breath, Demetria worked to steady herself in what was real and present. First glancing at the mirror to see her silver bangs and bun tidy, even as a subtle line of sweat gathered on her dark brow, high cheeks flushed and shadows under her eyes.

    Casting her gaze across the well put together hotel room she had been awarded, she couldn't help but embrace that it was a marked improvement even from she and her escorts ornate travelling tent.

    The sleek wood panels, scented with sandalwood and silk sheet bed were alone we such luxuries she would never have enjoyed without her lords aid, and his generosity was not restrained to his servants.

    Gifts of gold and patronage were a polite consideration to the town they were raising their most recent host from her lord had said and Demetria agreed.

    'Focus,' she reminded herself, pushing away from the desk and making for the door.

    Corin's Crossing was a large town, in a generation it would likely be a city in its own right. occupying a well used trade route between Andorhol and Stratholme. Thus the people were used to much hustle, bustle and caravan visits. The streets were naturally crowded, even more than usual, thanks to the blue bannered camp that sat right outside their streets.

    The people bore it with admirable aplomb, even if nerves might have been high, most took comfort in the sight of men and a few women donning armor, as the forges worked and food stores were pried open. Worry for the winter was in the air, as the dark cloud above let white snow speckle the street but it was not yet time to retreat inside.

    Finally, Demetria came to the town hall, Lord Saidan Dathrohan's personal guards saluting as she passed through the door.

    What awaited her was a compensable arrangement of paladins, priests, politicians and warriors, with only the redheaded Arcanist Doan disrupting the flow of Light Energy with his brimming Arcane essence.

    Saidan turned to face her and she repressed a wince at the subtle bracing that flickered across his dark features, even as he tried to hide it, "My dear lady, Demetria, welcome."

    Curtsying, Demetria answered, "My Lord, I truly regret that my presence has become a specter of ill omen."

    Saidan stiffened and clutched his beer mug tightly, "Demetria, I assure you that though the tidings may not always be joyous, that I am ever buoyed that it is you I can trust to tell me what I must hear. Please, speak. What have you seen?"

    She did not lick her lips or swallow or shift, no matter her discomfort and with a smooth, but authoritative tone she spoke.

    "The Drakkari Empire's attack on the capital was a success. King Teranas the Wise was struck down with a cursed blade and the royal family has been captured."

    The ensuing explosion was entirely expected.

    The mayor, so recently joyful for his town would be re-supplied by Tyr's Hand dropped his wine glass to the floor.

    "Impossible," Gasped, Alexandros Mograine, hands bracing on the table and mind awhirl with pained shadows.

    Tirion Fordring slammed his palms against the wooden meeting table and shot to his feet but before he could speak Arcanist Doan snapped.

    "You lie! Your dreams are no replacement for military intelligence!"

    She resisted the urge to drawl and answered, "I was scrying on the capital."

    Doan shot to his feet, "Dalaran would not have allowed this to happen, there are mages there who could have evacuated the royal family!"

    "They were stymied," She countered simply, half eyeing how the young Brigitte Abbendis, the youthful redhead looked ready to strike Doan now that her shock was fading.

    Doan made to shout when her lord placed his mug on the table with enough force all heard it, even if he did not slam, his mere presence enough to compel silence.

    "That is enough Doan, difficult as it may be to hear, Demetria's otherworldly senses are not to be dismissed." He turned to face her again, "What can you tell us about the battle and the the royal family?"

    Demetria bowed her head, "Much of the battle was obscured by spirits and magic, though I shall have a full report ready for you soon milord. As to the royal family," She sucked in a low breath.

    "Their efforts to escape by magic seemed to suffer some form of sabotage, or so I assume. They sought a path out of the city with others through catacombs."

    Alexandros nodded, voice tight, "There should be hidden docks they could use."

    "Would that were the case lord Paladin, but the enemy was well prepared," She brushed silver hair from her brow. "Agents of these Drakkari slipped into the city through magic and guile; terrible spiders of gargantuan size and wit."

    "Nerubians..." Doan whispered.

    "The young prince and Elite guard put up a valiant fight, but when the Drakkari took the palace and sent their agents into the catacombs, the battle was lost. I believe they yet live, but my efforts to divine their location were... curbed."

    "By these Nerubians, or by the Trolls gods?" Saiden asked matter-of-factly.

    "The spiders milord, with their task done, they were able to turn their efforts against me. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of eyes and whispered, images and sensations, accursed feelers of mind and magic sought to destroy me. I am sorry milord, I had to destroy your gift to deny them."

    "You made the right choice" Saiden said airily, his gaze hard and lost in thought.

    Tirion finally spoke, "I must return home now, Mardenholde Keep is not safe and I cannot leave the guiding of a host to my lieutenants!"

    Saiden repressed a scowl, "I will not countermand you my friend, nor would I deny you the right to protect your family, but we must proceed with caution."

    'Unfortunately Tirion is not a cautious man, too ruled by his passions,' Demetria mused, but she did not speak, for all her talents this was not her place.

    Tirion nodded gravely, "I shall not charge headlong into enemy fire if that is your fear, but nor can I ignore this or my duties at home. I shall leave immediately and fortify the Western Border."

    Saiden did not agree, Demetria knew this, but he did not say so, merely answering, "Then I would offer you the winged hosts we have raised thus far. As many as I can spare, take with them what mages and elite forces and wise advisors you can to better prepare for what is to come."

    "As you say," Tirion answers hastily, clasping arms with Saiden before racing out the door.

    Saiden glanced at Brigitte, "Young Paladin, return to camp and take stock of things, we were not idling, but not we must be ready to move with greater haste. But speak not of this information to anyone. Yet."

    Saluting, the redhead marched out the door, "As you wish, Lord Commander."

    Turning to the other men, Saiden said, "Lord Mayor, I would ask that this revelation be kept quiet for the moment. The people must know but only once they have been adequately braced for such a reality."

    The aging man nodded nervously, "If the assurances of imports from the Eastern Coast remain, that will at least... Soften the blow."

    "We will not leave you and yours to starve. For now, please leave us," Saiden said, before turning his focus to Doan. "My friend, I need you to link with our other mages, use whatever supplies necessary to commune with Dalaran and tell them of what transpired, they may know more than use."

    The arcanist bowed, "It will be done milord!"

    Soon enough they were left alone with Alexandros who seemed lost in thought, but also quietly wary at the absence of all others save themselves.

    "Lord Commander, what are my orders?"

    Saiden measured his fellow Paladin for a moment before speaking, "You have been lost deep in thought brother. Is there something you wished to share with me?"

    Alexandros still before his gaze drifted to Demetria who did not repress a chuckle. "My lord does not need me to keep him abreast of everything, especially the actions of his own fellows in the Order of the Silver Hand."

    "Indeed," Saiden answered, bluntly adding, "Your secrets are your own, but I am an open minded Paladin and a commander who only seeks to protect this land and her people. If you have something that can help with this, whatever it may be..."

    "I do," Alexandros whispered, gazing at his ruined hand, "I will ride home and retrieve it immediately."

    "Good," Saiden said with a crisp nod, "Join us in Stratholme, Baron Rivendare has been far too slow to raise his host."

    "Not in the South?" Alexandros asked quietly.

    "Our forces will be moving South to join the hosts are being raised by the Barov, Fording and more. It is there a bulwark shall be made, joining with camps and raiding forces of knights already in motion, though I would see them soon returned to Eastweld that we might fortify ourselves foremost. Still," he added idly.

    "As the most populated city besides the capital, it may be these Drakkari's next target. And unlike Tyr's Hand and the good folk of New Avalon, I cannot say for sure if the merchants and lords so far from this war will understand its gravity. Not if all I have heard thus far is anything to go by."

    Alexandros nodded, "I see, thank you Lord Commander, I leave you now and shall return with the item well in hand."

    "Safe travels my friend," Saiden intoned as he watched his fellow Paladin race out the door.

    Only then did he let his shoulders slack and his voice show its age, "This is a disaster," a hand ran through his long grey locks. "We do not even know if the Royals are alive, let alone the people of the city and with King Teranas and so many of the generals gone..."

    "The line of command are frayed, but this shall not stop you milord; I need not the gift of prophecy to know you shan't lead us astray."

    The man offered her a wane smile, "Let us hope that prediction is as accurate as your others," His smile faded. "And let us pray for those in the capital and beyond, for until we march it is all we can offer them."

    "May the Light preserve them," She intoned.

    The scent of broken mortar, smoke, and the tang of salt suffused Lianne's senses. Charcoal tainted her tongue and copper seemed to burn in her throat.

    Yet the queens expression beget nothing. A regal mask of neutrality, even as she held Calia close, running a hand through her hair as they walked through the palace halls surrounded by giant trolls, who had to shuffle lest they leave their prisoners behind.

    Her other hand held an unconscious Arthas's, the brave boy had fought his damndest only to be ultimately felled, and Lianne was unsure if she should be relieved or terrified that he still lived.

    'If I can convince them to just use me and hold them as bargaining chips, it could work or maybe…'

    The trolls had taken her poison infused ring when they and their monstrous beasts pulled her from the tunnels. But if she moved quickly enough… Could she spare them? Could she take that act? Would it even matter when the trolls had priests of their own?

    Callia let out a weak sniffle and Lianne pressed her lips to her daughter's head, "Brave girl, mother loves you," she whispered.

    Lianne's focus was stolen away when she realized the trolls were not lost within the palace but instead not taking them to the throne room but instead… the Royal Records Room?

    The well-worn door swung open and the lead troll in robes squatted to slip through while the red armored one motioned them after her, Arthas hanging limply in his arms.

    Swallowing, Lianne guided Callia forward and found the distant sounds of breaking rubble and drums fading to the sound of shuffled papers and muttering in many tongues she did not know.

    Her attention was drawn to the tallest creature she had ever seen, bedecked in dark blue and white robes of odd design, and adorned with a crown of crystalized ice and feathers. Just as he loomed over the his kin, so too did he stand much taller than the oak shelves that filled the chamber like a maze.

    He seemed blissfully unaware of how out of place he was, talking at a nervous looking junior phage.

    "This is the most recent census, and it includes projected military drafts, correct?"

    The brunette swallowed and nodded, "y- Yes, it was gathered on the winter solstice last year; doing… Doing so then ensures we have a more accurate gauge as most stay within their villages and cities with little travel."

    The robed troll who led them here slammed their chest, "Frost King Malakk, we present you the Royal Family or Lordaeron, Queen Lianne, Princess Callia and Prince Arthas."

    The phage wilted under Lianne's sharp gaze before shrugging helplessly and slinking away as quickly as he could.

    The troll king sighed and turned to face them, his expression odd to her, even for the trolls.

    Orange eyes met grey and she steeled herself, hands grasping her children tight as she moved to speak.

    Only to be interrupted.

    "Why's the small one unconscious?" he rumbled.

    Their captors shared an awkward chuckle before the fiery red head said, "Had a mean swing on him and you said to take them alive. Sos'tha lost half his tusk in the scuffle for that."

    "Hmm, send him to get it regrown or a prosthetic with my thanks."

    "Thank you sire!" the aforementioned troll called from somewhere outside the chamber, before marching off grumbling in his own sibilant tongue.

    His gaze had not broken from hers for even a moment, nor had his tone dipped or shifted, there was but a moment of silence and she capitalized on it.

    "My children, they are young, innocent and of more use to you alive and unharmed."

    The troll's brow arched, is mouth clicking as he made a vague slashing motion with his hand; for a moment she feared a blade strike but nothing came as the troll leaned back and spoke oddly gently.

    "Did you or your children take part in the death of my friend and Speaker, Malaka'raz?"

    Lianne stopped short, the name unknown, the terms unfamiliar the questions complete nonsense to her ears, "I do not understand."

    The troll huffed and waved a record of an Alliance council between them. "I saw no sign of your presence in the meeting where his fate was decided, so I supposed not. If so, then you and your children have nothing more to fear from me. Were circumstances different," he motioned vaguely as if releasing a dove from his hand, "I would release you, but the situation is too volatile for that, thus you will be my prisoners, but treated as my guests."

    He looked to his guards, "This will have been hard on them, escort the family to their chambers, if they wish to stay together, let them and have a priest or two of their church sent to care for their wounds."

    His gaze snapped back to her once again, "You and I shall have much to discuss, but not now, go, rest and care for your children."

    Lianne could not believe it, did not believe it, even as she followed their escorts offering only clipped directions to her children's chambers, the grip terror held on her heart did not abate.

    'Just what does he plan to do with us? When will the axe fall? How can we escape?'

    'That queen has a strong will, she may prove a great aid, or a painful hindrance in the coming days,' Malakk mused.

    Turning away from the doors and directing his attention back at the one of many maps of the nation and its neighbors laid out around him with forts, postal stations, borders and more marked down, gut aching at the sight.

    He heard Arctikus saunter into the room, spear tapping against the stone, "The last city block has surrendered completely. It will still be some time before we collect the weapons and sort our affairs however."

    "That is to be expected, and the church?" He asked, not taking his gaze away from the maps and census sheets, mind racing.

    "Many civilians fled there, along with some soldiers and members of their priesthood. But it was surrounded before they gathered in enough number to make it a bastion of resistance. Grand Prophet Gal'Darah is still in talks with the Archbishop. The old man stood upon the steps and demands his life be the first taken 'if we still sought to slake our bloodlust'," she hissed.

    Malakk clicked, "It would be best if we resolved things with the Church peacefully, they may be useful, nay, necessary…"

    Sensing his discontent, the Great Mother marched up to his side and looked up at him, "What troubles you, my liege?"

    He glanced down at her, showing her the sheets that gave birth to these new anxieties, his mind as weary as his body.

    "I believe we… Underestimated the scale of this nation and their allies."

    Her brow rose, "You fear we may fail?"

    Malakk chuckled without humor, "That was always a possibility. No, these thoughts come to me now for even with all your tribe has suffered, all the rumors of wars and loss... I did not truly understand just how much they had taken from you or the other tribes. I thought this place perhaps something like what you described in the mountains... Not this," he said, gesturing at the map that signified Lordaeron's rule, stretching from the Eastern to the Eastern Coast of the continent.

    Arctikus clutched her damaged spear tightly, "This one can only offer her apologies, Frost King Malakk-"

    "You spent little time here, you did not know," He said airily, "But Zul'jin, I wonder now how much he has, and why my Speaker did not notice this?"

    Arctikus's tone was soft, "The other tribes would hardly want to announce their weakness; even we did not until we had lost everything and your Speaker kept mostly to the city, yes?"

    Malakk huffed in affirmation, mind still occupied by the numbers on the page.

    "Maybe if we had called for aid sooner this never would have happened," She shook her head, "But their numbers... They concern you?"

    Malakk nodded, "Somewhat, or more, their ability to procure more concerns me." He sighed, gaze trailing along the many maps, eyes heavy.

    "I sought a swift war, one where we could strike down our foes leaders and crush their military strength, but it seems I underestimated the enormity of this task," he said, motioning to the maps.

    "For while they may fracture when bereft of their kings and armies it is not a certain thing, and even if they did they would likely rally much faster than expected. But worse," He traced a finger along a wall hanging map. "These humans spread so wide, with so many population centers, has this Stratholme and Tyr's Hand been here too, this war could be done. But they are so much larger than I thought them to be on the maps, and this is just this nation."

    "What would you have us do then, Frost King Malakk?" She asked, saluting.

    Malakk's mind whirled but he already could see the few paths remaining to him; rising to his full height he spoke sharply and with the authority of a king making his proclamations known.

    "First we must finish securing this city, put workers on the walls and fortify our position." He began counting off on his fingers.

    "Then we must ensure our secret project is ready before those in the East marshal their armies and march upon us.

    His hand closed into a fist, "And finally, we must summon my advisors, as many as we can, as swiftly as we can."

    He turned and marched from the chamber, "We have much to discuss."

    The Holy Temple of Lordaeron was a grand place, pristine walls of white marble and grand pillars. With ever blooming vines stretching along the walls and stained glass windows shining a rainbow of hues across the pews. While a shining array of polished braziers cast the temple dais in a perfect halo of light.

    The temple, normally pristine if somewhat bustling with quiet and contemplative activity or hushed politics was now crowded. Some were injured, others were lost, or mourning or simply too afraid to leave and return to streets still marched by victorious trolls.

    Alonsus Faol was not a young man and he had seen his fair share of conflict even before the Second War. But truly he had hoped to see through the rest of his life without witnessing another war.

    Unfortunately, fate was against him as well as the people of Lordaeron and within a few weeks the capital itself had been torn open by invaders; now trolls and unfamiliar beast creatures roamed the streets.

    As was to be expected in hard times people had come seeking the sanctity and protection of the Church, a reality their foes had unfortunately accounted for, leaving the temple surrounded early into the battle and lost as a potential fallback point for the army.

    'The only saving grace is they are more civilized than orcs,' Alonsus thought, recalling the blunt but surprisingly considerate terms that allowed those already seeking refuge to remain so long as they did not raise arms to strike at the 'Drakkari'.

    'But now they may be letting the other strike fall,' he mused, wondering why had had been called for again so soon as he straightened his dark blue robes, fixed his silver collars and ensured he was as dignified as befit his station.

    'I refuse to be anything less when my flock needs me at my best,' he resolved, marching through the grand doors to stand before a robed troll with bright pink hair. Adorned in a fine kilt and ornately armored tunic of brown and purples, lined with a sturdy bronze.

    The troll was not the tallest of his kind but was still a giant and had seemingly taken that into consideration, choosing to stand several steps down to ensure their different in height was not so obvious as to force Alonsus to crane his neck skywards.

    "Grand Prophet, Gal'Darah," He intoned respectfully, always respectfully, it was a holy tenant after all.

    The troll grinned but it did not 'seem' mocking as he offered a bow, "Archbishop Alonsus, this one thanks you for your time this evening."

    "I can only assume it was important if you asked me from my flock," he said.

    "Indeed it is," Gal'Darah said grimly, "Our priests and Shaman are doing what they can to tend to the wounded caught up in the fighting. However, some are proving rather... Difficult."

    Alonsus blinked owlishly, "You are tending to them?" There were tenants of the light that demanded such, even if some fell short of this ethos, many more did not and compassion, even to one's enemies was a core tenant of the Holy Light.

    "We are trying to," Gal'Darah said with an almost lyrical vexation, "Some refuse or fight or make matters worse on their own. Thus, it was hoped that you would be willing to render your assistance."

    "I would naturally do just that, however," he intoned gravely, "One could assume this a trick to lessen the priests in the temple without fighting."

    "One could but they would be wrong," The troll answered. "If it would assuage your concerns we can simply bring the obstinate one's to you, though some may injure themselves in the interim."

    Clasping his hands and sucking in a breath, Alonsus said, "I have your word as a holy man of your people, who tends to the wounded, the land and spirit of a nation that this is no deception or trick?"

    Gal'Darah stood just a little taller at that, more alert, before drawing a dagger from his belt and cutting his hand so deeply blood flowed as if from a glass. "I offer an oath, on my honor as the Prophet of Akali that this is no trick, Archbishop."

    A moment later the blood vanished in a sparkling wave and the troll bared his hand to show no sign of his wound, "My Loa is pleased, you see?"

    Nodding slowly, Alonsus said, "Very well, I shall need to assure my followers and then we may go."

    'That' ensuing discussion had been more than a little difficult, especially among the flock. But soon enough Alonsus Faol stepped out of the Church only to find Gal'Darah in a hissed debate with another troll.

    "Do you realize to act as such would make this one look deceptive?"

    Alonsus did not speak the trollish tongue and so did not know what the other said back in their sibilant, blocky tones.

    They bickered back and forth for a few moments, before Gal'Darah turned to face him, frowning, "Archbishop, I have been called away by duties demands. But be assured, that those who remain to escort you can be trusted."

    Alonsus remained silent for a moment, the debate on whether to trust the word of one troll in the name of others instead of their own weighed against the simple fact that if people needed to be healed he had a duty to tend to them.

    It was a very swift thought, "Very well Grand Prophet, I shall trust you in this matter."

    Gal'Darah blinked owlishly, before sighing, "You are to be commended, Archbishop," He offered a grand bow, "May we speak again soon on happier topics."

    In a move both necessary and poetic, the War Room of Lordaeron's Palace had been claimed for this meeting.

    Yet none gathered within the massive chamber of smooth stone, high ceilings and ornate maps could truly appreciate such a setting.

    Malakk stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking over the map of Lordaeron, his foes had not the time to even re-order with their attack. Forces laid out within the city reflecting only a moderate portion of the tokens marshalling in the East and South.

    Gathered around the too low table stood advisors, Drakkari like Gal'Darah, Arctikus and Chief Rageclaw, as well we foreign aids, like Halazhi and Ixit. All looked upon the map in contemplation, the wear and tear of battle still noticeable, be in in the cracked armor of war-lord Zol'Maz or the debris and dust clinging to the robes of Speaker Zala'Raz.

    Of those present on Zol'Maz spoke, his tone sharp and sibilant, "This war was folly from the outset. Would that we see a rival king dead, then we would have been better served to send shadowy assassins than an army."

    Arctikus rapped her knuckles on the low table, "You misspeak, for even were we to neglect the execution of noble Malaka'Raz, the lands of the Frostmane are still held, our dead still rotting in the snow."

    Zol'maz's fangs snapped together, "You have new, better lands, in your ancestral home, while the dead reside with the Loa. The matter is done!"

    Arctikue looked ready to throttle the taller troll, but few would notice Chief Rageclaw's tail pressing against her leg as if a reminder of restraint and quiet support.

    Quet'lith had less such restraint and snarled at the older troll, "Mind your tongue."

    "I shall mind nothing, I cannot be dismissed as some coward, I joined the fray and lost loyal retainers for this war. Now I tell you this, we must sew for peace with the Alliance and return home, forgetting this wretched place ever existed!"

    "Peace," Malakk scoffed, turning away from the table. "I tried to sew for peace, and the Alliance proved themselves incapable of such decency when they tortured and executed my Speaker. An act so barbaric I could not even conceiver of it!"

    He whirled around, and drove his Ice-Claws into the table, piercing the capital city. "I saw to it there could be no peace they would even feign to when I took Teranas's head from his body!"

    Zol'Maz stiffened, as if expecting to defend himself before snarling, "Which was a mistake, your oaths should not guide an empire-"

    "This war was supported and endorsed, Zol'Maz," Gal'Darah snapped, his wand resounding on the table firmly.

    "And as ever there was a contingent in protest," Zol'Maz countered, "Now it is time to heed our wisdom and end this conflict!"

    "End!?" Actikus scoffed, "It never ends, war-lord. No victory is ever enough for them, toppling our capital was not enough for them, driving us from our farms was not enough for them, our clinging to life in mountain crags and a simple valley were not enough of a victory for them!"

    A harsh, chaotic clicking sound resounded as Ixit croaked out, "They would follow and would seek vengeance, as well as to weaken a rival state that can threaten their own, as you do."

    "I-" Zol'Max tried to rally but Malakk spoke first.

    "Enough! What is done is done, the war declared, Speaker and kings lay dead; offer a tenable solution or merely gift us with your silence Zol'Maz."

    Silence lingered for a time, after which redhead answered, "We have their royal family."

    "A royal family," Hala'zhi whispered, earning a glare from the taller troll.

    "A fine lot of aid you were, leading us into this quagmire," Hissed Zol'Maz.

    The War Priest bowed, "No deception was intended, but we do not keep a census of every human settlement, least of all those deeper to the South."

    "Blame helps nothing," Rageclaw said swiftly, "Royals, hostage or trade?"

    Malakk clicked, rubbing his chin, "It is hard to say, their presence gives more incentive to attack, but the Alliance has proven unable to be negotiated with in civilized terms, so no agreement with them can be trusted."

    "Then let us table that," Gal'Darah offered with a light tap, "The question is not can we avoid further confrontation, but how can we best succeed?"

    "Such confidence," Sneered Zol'Maz.

    Gal'Darah smirked, "All faith must be tested."

    "Enough," Malakk said with a low irritated hum, "Quetz'Lith, your musings?"

    The Sky Sovereign looked upon the map and tilted her head, brows knitted together. "An efficient solution would be to torch the fields and claim the farms. Then launch a campaign such as this again from a new location before the fires are done until their stocks are so weakened they would take decades to pursue us."

    Hala'zhi perked up at that, "Such a plan would ensure the Alliance doe snot simply begin venting their vexation on your cousins and friends, Frost King Malakk."

    "And would render me dishonorable to the last and likely bring a curse down upon our number."

    That seemed to leave the Forest Troll looking contemplative, while Arctikus said, "Such things can be balanced, wild fires would stall the enemy for a time, even with their magic."

    "This is winter however, even magical flames can be quashed," Zol'Maz noted, and quickly added. "If we wished to make a hard campaign for them, luring them into enemy territory may be ideal. Our supply lines cannot support more than maybe a third of the Five Hundred Legions of Zul'Drak, but at home, we could wear them down."

    "This sounds like another excuse to leave," Gal'Darah sniped, leaning across the table.

    "Not at all," Countered the troll with forced neutrality. "We would meet them on the coasts, after fortifying them and wear the enemy down, the Amani, if Loa and Gods willing, may even strike them from behind. It would be safer than a campaign across the seas."

    "This presumed they don't march on my tribe to ensure we cannot aid you," offered the War Priest with delicate tones, before sending a side glance to the Frost King. "I know well the Shadowglen are already reclaiming Zul'Ashar and our enemies have never been moderate when they choose to strike.

    "That is also a lot of coast to defend," Moorabi observed carefully, having spoken for the first time since arriving, from his perch along the roof beams.

    "And few welcome those that bring war to their lands," Ixit mussed suddenly, their sudden interjection making several resist the urge to rear back.

    "Indeed," Zol'Maz said, chest swelling, "We would have much support, the Rageclaws's efforts too would pay dividends."

    Malakk however frowned, "That is not what I think you mean Seer Iixit."

    The Nerubian was silent for a moment before clicking, and whispering, "The future is uncertain, we can say some would resist the interlopers, but others would lay blame."

    "And," Malakk stressed, hand resting over his sharp gaze, "We know Grizzlemaw would aid invaders against us with joy. While their human satraps would likely welcome the power of their cousins."

    Rageclaw's paws patted the table, "Jintha'kalar would be a first target, Less secure than Zul'Drak."

    And lousy with potential co-conspirators given that city's Royal Family had been among the most resistant to rejoining and sympathizers still...

    Malakk tapped the table sharply, "Allies... We need allies."

    Arctikus arched her brow, "Like the Amani or the Orcs?"

    Malakk chuckled, his tone growing in haste, "Like collaborators and conspirators! Yes, yes, word must be sent to the Amani to discuss potential terms, and orders to Hooktusk to secure the Shadowglenn's support through any means she deems acceptable. But look upon this lands, so vast and varied, you cannot tell me there are none who would not benefit from the known orders being shaken to their knees."

    Speaker Zala'Raz clicked his tongue, "I have heard tell of the Gnolls in this land and of many rogue Ogre Tribes too, but I think you are meaning the humans yes?"

    "All of them, but yes indeed, my Speaker," The Frost King cheered. "Even mercenary companies are something to consider now if Lordaeron's treasury has worth."

    Zol'Maz scowled, "You said the humans too dishonorable to treat with?"

    "As a whole? yes," Malakk said bluntly, "They are too strong to be forced to hold to their bargains lest they truly wish to, but a few Great Houses, some ambitious merchants and warriors?" A which smirk spread across his handsome features, "After all, you can always trust a traitor to look out for their best interests."

    Malakk traced lines along the map, "Even if it does not secure us this land forever, it will give us more time to prepare our neighbors and fortify the Homefront than if we just press on like this or leave. It could open up new avenues of supplies and weaken our foes by turning them against each other."

    QuetzLith was smirking, viciously, "If we have the Shadowglen we can use their turtles to help claim the nearby Lake and stop reinforcements by that route, force them to face us in killing fields we control."

    "Another fine point," Malakk mused.

    Hala'zhi offered a swift bow, "Honesty demands I inform you my emperor may wish for your aid against the elves in return for war on the humans."

    "That may be necessary regardless," Malakk said growing more somber, "Many Alliance leaders gave voice to the order of death and one hailed from Quel'Thalas. I shall determine their guilt in time, but for now we must explore all options."

    Rageclaw patted the table, "The Rageclaw can begin seeking allies."

    "Indeed," Malakk intoned, "I want our scholars picking apart every scrap of history, merchants and noble houses to determine who best to turn to our sides or even simply guide into neutrality. Explorers and agents can seek out those displaced by humans and... Yes, the camps, those Orcs proved their mettle in battle. Let us see how far these Orcish Legions can go, hm?"

    There were a dozen Internment Camps marked along the map of Trisifal alone.

    Zol'Maz was scowling but added, "If we are to try dragging this conflict out to bloody our foes, then we should send raiding parties and saboteurs to the East to stymie our foes."

    "A worthwhile point," Malakk mused, before glancing to Seer Ixit who nodded and spoke in raspy tones.

    "We shall continue to aid you, for now, but we must commune with the empire to determine out future in this war."

    "I thank you for all your aid so far, you have done much for us, Seer Ixit," Malakk then looked to the table and clapped. "We have the beginnings of a plan. I shall leave you all to discuss this, as I must speak with Zala'Raz and tend to another task."

    Each saluted, and Moorabi finally jumped down from the ceiling to join them, "Hail Frost King, we shall not fail you."

    With an affirming nod, the king marched from the magically silenced chamber with his Speaker in toe.

    Only when the doors closed, did Zala'Raz speak, their youthful voice firm but light, "My liege, when you spoke of us being perhaps unable to hold this land forever. That, to this one, tells that you think we could?"

    Malakk looked down at their youthful speaker and nodded, speaking quietly, "Perhaps so, Zala'Raz." Clapping the younger troll on the shoulder he added, "Come, let us find our new attaché and then see what the Morning brings."

    The clouds that had subsumed the city in the grips of battle had departed, and despite the Winter chill, the mid morning sun shone brightly, with not a cloud in the sky. As if something divine had cast them aside to offer light to the city of Lordaeron in the wake battle.

    Before the royal palace, people were gathering.

    The crowd was neither large nor small given the size of the city. Many hiding away in attics and basements when the proclamation to assemble was let loose and those who hid were left to do so.

    But others, perhaps fearing reprisal, or simply desiring the truth trekked to the steps of the capital palace. Sill, their eyes were wide and wary at the sight of trolls atop rooftops and arrayed on the streets in strict and regiments legions that would have done any Alliance drill commander proud.

    Standing at the top of the steps was a troll, lean of frame and sharp of feature save for his small, rounded tusks, with long white hair slicked back like a wet mane. Adorning his frame were robes of sparkling gold, blue and silver, in his hands, he grasped a strange idol, akin to a small wand layered in runes and studded with an emerald jewel.

    He brought the idol to his mouth and began to speak, his voice calm and measured, nearly soothing as it wafted over Lordaeron's capital.

    "People of Lordaeron, I thank you for your presence and assure all of your safety in our presence, for it has been promised and assured by our leader, Frost King Malakk, arbiter of Justice and Uniter of Empires."

    He strode across the marble white stone, his movements fluid and open, neither sharp nor stern even as his voice washed over the streets like gentle thunder.

    "You show great courage and patience with your presence here; I understand this must have been frightful given the past day. We asked for your presence but did not demand it, that you might understand why we have brought woe upon your lands."

    He was quiet for a moment, his tone shifting ever so slightly into something firmer but by no means harsh.

    "I assure you it was neither bloodlust nor greed that caused us to raise steel and lose lives so far from our beloved home, but instead our peerless sense of justice and honor."

    His voice began to grow louder even as his tone slowed.

    "Some years prior, in the closing days of the Second War a tribe of our kindred, the Frostmane of what you call Khaz Modan sought to reclaim but a fraction of land they had once held as their domain unchallenged. They thought the Dwarves too distant and too few to care for but a single valley, but ever did they underestimate their ancient invaders pride and fury."

    His movements began to grow sharper, the idol pulsing with energy.

    "Their builders made no war upon the Dwarves but were slaughtered without mercy, butchered and massacred! Their village leaders head placed on a pike that his mother might see it and weep! But this was no warning, instead, it was a promise of a genocide to come and so the Frostmane fled to us, losing friends, family, babes alike to the steel of those who hunted them."

    He turned to face the largest mass of crowd standing at the steps, both hands clasping the idol as he spoke measuredly.

    "Our Frost King Malakk welcomed them and though they were now his subjects, in his infinite sense of fairness and justice he sought to resolve this with words and not blades. Thus, he sent to your grand Alliance my predecessor, Speaker_Malaka'raz."

    They held for a moment, beckoning for a hush among the Drakkari audience members who thumped their chests in salute and commemoration.

    "He could not have been mistaken for some raider, nor would he have acted as one! He walked peacefully upon your lands, arriving quietly in robes of gold, ready and willing to speak! But what greeted him was capture, torture and a merciless execution!"

    Lurching back as if struck he clutched at his heart and called out, "His head was sent to our lieges' home as a warning, agony tore at his soul, pain and heartache that was echoed across our land for such a cruel fate!"

    Halting their theatrics, the Speaker leaned forward, almost conspiratorially as he spoke, voice still carried across the winds as clear as a winter chill.

    "Thus, we have now come, at last to avenge his fall upon those who committed the crime and those that would defend them. We come here seeking justice, not plunder or your pain, merely to balance the scales! All those who do not raise steel or spell, or prayer against us shall be left be. Already the people of North-Port and beyond return to their lives with their homes and families unharmed and un-harried."

    He moved forward as if to go down the steps.

    "We come here seeking justice against those who ordered unjust death and those that would defend them. Your homes, your churches, your way of life shall suffer not for the Frost King and Drakkari Empire welcome all who deal in honor and fairness."

    He pointed to the crowd and proclaimed his voice grandly.

    "I stand here now in a position I neither sought nor desired so young, thanks to the loss of my mentor and friends. I am Zala'Raz, Speaker of our leader, Frost King Malakk, I share his words, my voice is his voice."

    He gestured above him to the royal balcony where a great troll stood, towering over his kindred, a crown of ice and vibrant feathers adorning his head and flowing robes of blue, gold and white, fit for any king, his tattooed arms held wide as if to embrace the land and people before him.

    "I stand here to proclaim that while the city's rulers have fallen, that Lordaeron will survive, that you the people shall live freely and safely as members of the Drakkari Empire, thus proclaims Frost King Malakk!"

    _______________________________________
    Notes:
    I always quite liked what I read of Saiden before he died and Demetria is such a cool concept, the chance to explore them even a little wasn't one I wanted to pass up. Their scene also served, I hope, to convey what Eastweld's been getting up to so far, as well as setting certain things into motion or otherwise laying groundwork.

    Sorry to anyone expecting a lot of focus on Arthas for this segment, but I found myself drawn most to Lianne due to her unique position in these circumstances, coupled with Arthas's youth and Calia's personality, yeah, it had to be her for what I am doing.

    And the other shoe drops, yeah suffice to day given stylized maps were still in vogue in WOW well after this point in history and the fact the Frostmane have no reason to know Lordaeron's population and even the Amani wouldn't necessarily have the scale down pat. Well, the Drakkari wandered into something bigger and more to the point, spread out than they were prepared for.

    One of the fun things about this story is writing interactions that never would or could be in canon, or even just concepts that seem little explored. Like the similarity in roles between the various priest classes among trolls and humans for example, the Night Elves Sisterhood has its own unique place to me and doesn't have quite the one to one ratio. Meanwhile religion and religious figures in organized hierarchies with similar duties really do seem to be a cross culture thing for many troll and human societies, so its fun to try and see people who are peers engaging, with circumstances or cultural bias creating unique undertones.



    "Allies... We need allies." is a direct quote from Rise of the Horde, I love tat book. Anyway, I hope I was able to explore and justify the strategic decisions going on here.

    A big part of the Drakkari's motivations, beyond even the various oaths is that to them, the act of killing a Speaker is legitimately so dishonorable and vile it colors their entire perception on alliance Politics and as a result makes negotiating as peers seem entirely pointless, a stance encouraged by those like the Frostmane and Amani who have suffered generations of attrition at their foes hands. Zol'Maz actually has a lot of good points, though unlike a wise commenter, he's undercut by the fact his motives are ultimately less strategic and more a desire to return to the status quo and everyone knows it.

    Whatever the case, I hope I made the debate seem worthwhile, as well as hinting at certain differences in morality, while justifying the decisions made. This is a tricky and tenuous position for the Drakkari and if they get no local support, heading home fast as hell is indeed the best option and remains a good one regardless of shifts in circumstances. Still, smaller and less well supplied forces have brought great enemies to their knees before, Alexander the Great and the Mongols for instance, so I'd not count the Drakkari out yet.

    Pretty much this entire chapter was born from the feedback and predictions others had made, giving me cause to better explain and contextualize these things and make the cast feel more involved. Seriously the original was just the Lianne scene, the Arctikus scene and the speech; so thanks o everyone who has commented to far and I hope to hear from you again soon!
     
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    • The Winter War - Prologue: Friends & Foes
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    • The Winter War - Prologue: Friends & Foes​

    Word spread quickly.

    The fields of Tirisfal had been set alight, the coasts bombarded and raided while Dalaran was completely barred from Loardaeron's capital by foreign magics.

    All of which was pure preamble to what would follow.

    Heralded not by blades and flames, but messenger birds sent to every noble, city and commander across the lands of Lordaeron and beyond.

    The words within unbelievable, yet the reality was undeniable. King Teranas the Wise was dead, struck low by a troll king he had offended some years past.

    A troll who now proclaimed themself to be the ruler of the lands, offering acceptance within his empire or of neutrality. Hidden beneath layers of flourished language were veiled suggestions of reparations or justice from those who had been party to offences he claimed against himself and his people.

    Outrage and grief burned in the hearts of the people, be they nobles, paladins or peasant. Efforts to marshal their forces increased ten-fold and plans were made to return Lordaeron to its rightful rulers.

    But among them were those who looked upon the empty throne as an opportunity, were one but ambitious enough to seize it.

    Beyond them, were those that saw a new monarch as a source for new beginnings and a glorious rise to power that would forever reshape the Eastern Kingdoms.

    Of course, there are those who were beneath notice or needn't be informed. All of them watching from the back woods and mountains as the lands of humanity writhed and congested in the throes of war.

    All the while, within the conquered halls of Lordaeron, Frost King Malakk and his followers make ready for the battles that are sure to come.

    Sylvanas once again found herself in the company of Lord Tirathon, this time within Silvermoon's golden walls. The council meeting had been surprisingly brief and adjourned after the missive was presented.

    "So," Tirathon asked, "You know better the ways of the inner court than I. What do you expect?"

    Sylvanas's frown was hidden by her dark blue hood, "I imagine they will do as they said and reflect on their matter... Before quickly moving to gauge their fellows reactions to best determine their own."

    She rubbed her chin, "As to our chances of going to war, it is harder to say. They have a means to beg off it now, but it is on the word rather than the weakness of a troll, which will rankle."

    Tirtahon scoffed, "I only trust a troll when they're screaming for my head or over their own death."

    Sylvanas was not one to disagree with that sentiment, "As it stands, our efforts to allow piracy and partisans may find themselves pushed back so they can watch the battles unfold... Or war will be declared."

    "The troll made things easier for the council with this," Mused the young lord.

    "In some ways, though much is still to be determined by matters of reputation and pride. As to which is more likely," She shook her head, "I cannot say."

    "If it is not declared, I know some reliable crews," Tirathon mused.

    Sylvanas remained silent as they parted ways.

    Malakk's missive had arrived at Zul'Aman with all due haste, but its contents was already known, the evening prayers of War Priest Hala'Zhi ensured that much.

    However, forewarning did little to change proposition before Zul'jin and the Amani. Which was itself little more than an invitation to take the next step in debates that had been enthralling Zul'Aman since before the war began.

    For with war came openings in the enemies guards, with an enemies weakness came opportunities and with those, the chance to avenge injustices.

    'But so too does it present risks,' Zul'jin mused, his ever burning eye and missing arm mere physical reminders of the gulf of grief and shame that roiled eternally in his soul.

    'And not all risks are so clear as an enemies spell,' Zul'jin was all to aware that for all the Amani's will and numbers and strength that they were the juniors in any Alliance with the likes of Zul'drak.

    Would the Frost King seek to extend his rule over cousins and kin? Perhaps unlikely, but not impossible. Would they lose sight of their own goals in pursuit of his, or perhaps simply be led to defeat again?

    There was much to consider and debate before a decision was made. Which was why priests, chieftains, military officials, and scholars had gathered in the Temple of Ula'Tek near the heart of Zul'Aaman.

    Zul'jin kneeled on a comfortable, well-worn mat within the grand and finally refurbished Temple.

    All signs of wear and tear upon the grey-stone and faded metals was gone. Every crack had been filled, every broken brick replaced, and every relief had been reformed and shined to perfection. The art of Kintsugi not lost on the Amani even now.

    The resources to do so had been a secondary payment from the Drakkari, materials offered whenever they could not or would not pay the price in Saronite.

    Zul'jin found he was pleased with the trade. Finally, Zul'Aman was once again looking like the proud ancestral home of his people that it should be over a fading ruin that hosted a dying nation.

    'There is more work to be done across the capital and forests, but our glorious return to prominence has begun, not with a war cry, but a humble builders hammer strike.' A fitting thing, he thought, for the first true architects of the world.

    His thoughts turned to what was hovering behind him, the jade studded visage of his goddess and patron before his remaining eye glanced across the meeting hall. Arrayed along the wide walled chamber were his advisors, and all were looking upon the woman with wild red hair and fiercely curved tusks as she gave her report.

    "The Drakkari had secured the glades and were waging war on the capital when I ordered us home. The humans now marshal their armies at the Fallen Gate of Tal'Kin and would soon present a barrier I could not slip through," Akil'Goun finished, standing at attention.

    "I thank you and yours for your exemplary work, Sky Sovereign," Zul'jin intoned. Motioning for her to take a seat at his side as he nursed a small bowl of tea, the ceramic glinting with gold in the places where it had once been cracked.

    On his left Daakara rubbed his chin, "Sending Sky Riders to observe was a wise decision, but what are we to do with this information Warlord and," he tapped his hands, "Malakk's offer?"

    Halazzi hissed, "The choice is obvious, we join with Malakk's Legion and send raiders to the south when the humans rally. Pick apart their rear lines and destroy their farms to starve them as they did us!"

    "The humans are less of a concern than the Elves," Chieftain Zul'Marosh cut in, "And Malakk has not promised us their destruction. Would we be able to compel such aid from him if he does not wish to see them fall?"

    Hex_Lord_Malacrass was quick to counter, "With our new weapons we should be sailing upon the holy isle to reclaim them, not concern ourselves with the South until then."

    Kel'gash looked speculative, a subtly wicked smirk on his lips, "This could indebt Malakk to us some, for striking at potential foes, especially if we find proof they sought to join the Alliance in march."

    Kazra'jin waved them both off, "You assume too much, we should wait and see what the Elves will do and how the Drakkari fare before we make our decision."

    Zul'jin glanced at Akil'Goun, "What would you say the Drakkari's chances are?"

    The woman tapped her fingers in thought, "They struck swiftly and fiercely, using great strength, skill and secret weapons to deliver a crushing blow. However, the Alliance are neither fools nor few in number. If the Drakkari fight Lordaeron alone with cunning as well as strength, I would call it an even fight." Her shoulders rolled, rippling muscle on full display as she added, "But with the Alliance as a whole bearing down upon them? I cannot envision victory. Not without aid."

    "That could bode ill for us," Zul'jin muttered, "I doubt the Elves will move given it took us setting their forests ablaze in the Second War to truly act. Perhaps they have learned, but ego clings to their bones as much as magic."

    He placed his drinking bowl down on the oaken table before him and sighed. "Though my heart yearns to see the holy lands reclaimed, I would caution against reckless actions."

    Otembe raised his hand to speak and Zul'jin waved him on.

    "Thank you, Emperor," he said with a bow. "And though I dare not question your wisdom of strategy, I must remind you that our secret weapon is waiting and ready to be deployed. With it, even the accursed elves Sunwell barrier shall shatter."

    Malacrass tapped his own bowl with a long fingernail, "I concur, the Saronite is a powerful weapon, but the longer it is known the more the elves have time to understand it, risking the loss of its potency."

    The room broke into furious back and forth debate for some time, Zul'jin letting the discussion wash over him as he looked upon the twin moons above, the sensation of paper beneath his aging fingers as he recalled Malakk's words.

    'He seeks to rule the humans, he does not understand what we have lost, yet he holds to the old ways better than many I have known.' Dismissing the thoughts of the lost Smolderthorn and Firetree, Zul'jin drew his conclusions and beckoned for quiet and made ready his proclamation.

    Holding Malakk's letter for all to see Zul'jin spoke, his sharp tones echoing across the courtyard, swift and smooth as snake scales.

    "Were any Drakkari to be given these terms by another, they would no doubt find them fair..." Her curled his fingers around the paper sealing it in his hands, "But we are not the Drakkari, we have not ruled one united nation for ten thousand years with no fear of invaders, we are the Amani!"

    He rose to his feet, "We have seen our nation toppled and lands stolen. Temples burn and homes torn asunder. Our ancestors placed in chains while our children were hunted like animals and babes burned in their cribs!"

    A fierce roar rose up from the crowds outside.

    Zul'jin pressed on, "We shall not let Malakk's mercy risk defining our glorious reclamation and thus we cannot bind ourselves to his words, nor can we risk the Drakkari's defeat and retreat."

    Malacrass looked eager, wanting, "Then Emperor-"

    Zul'jin slashed his hand, "But we shall not race to reclaim the Holy Land. For though my heart aches to see it returned in all its resplendent glory, the lessons of the Second War were harsh and I would be a fool to ignore them. For all that we might claim, there is no denying the Elves are canny and may well take the Holy Land before we can turn its power against them. But, do not lose hope."

    He leaned forward, the practiced image of an intimate friend with a mischievous scheme radiating from his being.

    "Instead we shall entertain his Speakers but keep them at a distance, while using the humans distraction to our advantage." He drew his bladed-Tonfa and motioned out the temple doors, "South we shall sail, returning the Tribes to the fold and ensuring our control of the Eastern Coast cannot be challenged by humans, elves or even the Drakkari."

    "We shall raid the Dwarves and draw out the Elves to fight on our terms, all the while our secret weapon shall wait in the wings! Scouts shall be deployed and prayers offered, that we might see the Drakkari's fate. So that when the time to strike is nigh, our blow lands like lightning!"

    A cheer echoed as he continued, high and holy, "We shall not bind ourselves tot he Drakkari but them to us. We shall let no other dictate terms to the accursed elves but we, not the Drakkari, the orc and especially not the Zandalari."

    His voice rose high, his bladed glinted in the moonlight.

    "For this is our land and only we decide its fate!"

    The crowd roared, his advisors rose in cheer and the plan was set.

    The Amani would join the war, but on their own terms.

    Kel'thuzad watched his old friend and ally, Baron_Rivendare from a comfortable seat in the man's private offices overlooking Stratholme's richest district.

    The nobles neatly tied ponytail flicked as he glanced over his shoulder and tossed the letter to the desk. "I take it your magic let you gleam the missive's meaning before it passed into my hands?"

    "Naturally, it made for interesting reading," Kel'thuzad offered neutrally.

    Rivendare chuckled, "It seems you made the right decision leaving your manor to pay me a visit when the creatures arrived. Whoever would have thought it, the capital lost to barbarians of all things?"

    Kel'thuzad idly ran a hand over his cats back as he answered, "It would appear so. In truth I merely wanted to avoid what I assumed would be a great excess of noise and nuisances, but this… This is interesting."

    Rivendare quirked his brow and smirked, "Oh? Hoping this troll will strike down the Kirin Tor for their cruel treatment of your perhaps?"

    "The thought of those arrogant enough to banish me, cast down by such base creatures does amuse me somewhat, yes. Though the prospect of the libraries and holding cells of the city being cast open for I and I alone does hold something more than such mundane musings." His gaze sharpened as he added, "But I assume you have your own schemes."

    "Indeed, I do," Rivendare answered, moving to the main window that overlooked the city, hands clasped behind his back, soft silken suit near glimmering in the morning light. "Stratholme is the largest city in the land, an equal to the capital, a hub of trade, nobility and wealth; as well as secured far from the front and an able bastion against the chaos of war."

    "You seek to become the grand general of Lordaeron's armies… Or perhaps to make this the acting capital," Kel'Thuzad grinned, "Or something far grander than that."

    Rivendare spun around, smirking, "Do you think a crown would suit me my friend?"

    "I think you have the look of a king," Kel'thuzad offered diplomatically, "But you would be far from the only claimant and this is a city of merchants, not soldiers."

    "Alas, you are correct," Rivendare said, taking his seat at the fine oak desk. "Were this a different time I could harken to the days of old, before this land was ruled by Lordaeron. But so many Westerners live here now and the likes of Saidan_Dathrohan are but debased dogs before Teranas and the Church. They'd have no stomach for independence," He rubbed his sharp chin, "Nor do I much care for being a neighbor to a troll."

    Kel'thuzad shrugged, "Mercenaries come easily in war and the capital will need to be restored by someone. The financial hub of Lordaeron restoring the capital would grant you much capital, though not as much prestige as winning the war."

    "This is true, but if played carefully and I make myself integral I or even my son could be in a most opportune position, especially for a worthwhile marriage with little Callia."

    Kel'thuzad quirked his brow, "You think the royal family still alive?"

    "It is a theory, a hope and yet despairing thought, but I feel it is one with merit, as the troll only makes note of killing Teranas but not of destroying his line. Perhaps it is a mere oversight," he shrugged, "But it is worth considering, especially if Arthas can be culled. Of course, it would be best were I to know for certain…"

    Taking the man's significant look for what it was, Kel'thuzad hummed. "I do have some experience with infiltration, and I would hardly be lying if I told the troll I wished to see Dalaran rendered to dust."

    "So, you will do it?" Rivendare chuckled, "I would appoint you the new court sorcerer, grant you all you could ever dream of if you do so my friend."

    "I will consider it," Kel'thuzad said, "I do long to see Dalaran broken and I doubt you could abide me of that even if this plan were to succeed."

    "Perhaps," Riverdare said, with a wave of his hands, "But is revenge really worth serving a troll?"

    He shrugged, "Perhaps, perhaps not, I would abhor committing to anything before I see these invaders "mighty legions" for myself, it may indeed be best to simply surrender or adopt a neutral stance. Mayhaps the princess lives and I can whisk her away, or they can only be defeated with knowledge I would funnel to you and you alone."

    "You speak wisely my friend; shall we shake on it?" Rivendare said, offering his hand.

    Reaching out and taking it, Kel'thuzad nodded, "Indeed, I assure you Rivendare I shall do all I can to aid us both from within the halls of Lordaeron."

    They clasped hands, eyes twinkling with mirth.

    The sight of Mardenholde_Keep poking up from its mountain valley home had scarcely ever been such a welcome sight to Tirion Fordring. Eager to see his family and home, he egged his mount on, "Hya!"

    "My lord, I do not think they can go any faster!" called his apprentice, over the strained screeching of their mounts.

    "They are fine and sturdy as any steed, Barthilas and just as eager as we for a true meal I'd wager!" He called back.

    They soared over the green laden glade, the town of blurring by beneath them as their mounts reared back, wings beating against the air as they came in for a hasty landing. His Gryphon nearly doubled over, its entire body heaving and a quiet crow of relief escaping its beak as Tirion dismounted.

    "Good work," He commended, ruffling the creatures feathers and motioning to the stable hands, "Find them food and plenty of water, I must see my family!" with that he made his way away from the stables and around the grand, squared off Keep he called home.

    Word of his arrival had clearly preceded him for his young bride Karandra was awaiting him alongside Lorik.

    "My darling," he crooned, embracing Karandra as his bride hugged him and whispered, "We heard about the capital, its awful."

    Patting her back he answered, "I know my dear, we shall put it all to right soon, but where is Taelan?"

    Lorik saluted, his bristly red beard on full display with his helmet in his hands and answered, "The young lord asked to assist us and so Durgen has let him join a hunt."

    "That will be good for him, and how goes the host?" He asked, hugging his wife to his side as Barthilas joined them.

    Lorik nodded, "We are not wanting for volunteers milord, be they as warrior, seamstresses or lumberjacks. We have already met our assigned quota for lumber and other supplies, and both Durgen and I have been overseeing the militias training and the preparation of the host.

    "Good men, the both of you, had any chance to do battle with our foe?" He added idly inspecting their increasingly fortified Keep walls.

    Lorik shook his head, "None milord, they seem to be keeping close to the temple and so our mountain patrols have nary seen hide nor hair of the filthy beasts."

    Tirion nodded, brow furrowing, "Do we know how fares the Monastery?"

    Karanda answered for them, "No new escapees since the first handful arrived, besides that, we have no word."

    Tirion shook his head, chest deflating, "Then we must see something done about this. I cannot let this matter slide."

    Barthilas looked stricken, "Milord, did the Lord Commander not order a bulwark?"

    Tirion huffed, "Look around you my lad, the mountains themselves are our bulwark, the South needs to be better fortified, but this is our home terrain and the Church our holy site. I would be a poor Paladin were I to leave it in the hands of our foes."

    Barthilas swallowed, "I do not protest this milord, the only thing worse than a troll is an orc, I long to see these beasts driven before our blades as you do but is it safe to move so rashly?"

    That made him scowl, moustache bristling, "I would remind you to keep a respectable tongue when speaking to your superior as a Paladin and lord of the lands you walk upon. young lad."

    Barthilas bowed hastily, "I apologize milord, I meant no disrespect."

    "He has a point, doesn't he, Tirion?" Karanda whispered.

    "My love, please leave the strategizing to the soldiers, besides," He sent each of them a significant look. "I am no fool who plans to rush headlong into enemy arrows, but nor will I remain passive while the Lords and Ladies of the East drag their feet. If we can reclaim the Monastery this war hall be half won and the Lights Power fill our people's hearts."

    Gesturing to the West he spoke, "We shall begin with scouts, mountaineers and Gryphon Riders. They shall guide our fiercest and finest through the paths to strike their mountain guards down. This shall be our opening maneuver, laying bare the temple that we may lay low the occupiers, raising the prisoners to join our Host and casting out these invaders!"

    He could hear a cheer echoing from the people, many had stopped to heed him it seemed and he cheered, "That is the way my fellows, dedicate yourselves to your task with zeal and we she see this foe defeated be the solstice!"

    Another cheer as the people began racing around in haste, as he turned to his fellows and added, "Come, let us discuss this inside as we await, Taelan."

    Caer Darrow was silent as the grave.

    Lord_Alexei_Barov assumed that such a horrified silence would be reigning throughout the lands now that their monarchs no longer ruled.

    "Deposed by a troll warlord, the shame of it all," he muttered from his fire-side seat, a glass of brandy in one hand as he looked over the letter again.

    "Indeed, such a strange way for us to find out though, no?" His wife, his dear Lady_Illucia_Barov mused as she poured herself a glass of wine. They had sent the servants away so they could talk in private, behind magically reinforced walls.

    "You are correct my dear. Strange indeed, that a troll of all things would attempt diplomacy, but not all together unwelcome, it gives one time to think and plan."

    Illucia sent him a pleased smirk as she took her own cushioned seat across from him, murmuring, "And just what might you be planning my husband?"

    Alexi shrugged, "Who can say, these are uncharted waters after all, so many options."

    "Indeed," she chuckled, "The royal family fallen, the capital in the hands of savages and offers for neutrality, war or absorption. No doubt most of the noble houses and the Church shall march to our fallen monarchs cause."

    "Many may indeed, though we both know others have suffered much with unyielding taxes to care for the orcs," he spat, before grinning. "They may just lack the funds to levy a host."

    "But the rest of the Alliance may not?" she countered, eyes twinkling, "A family of our esteem could garner much if we sent our own to fight on the front lines."

    "Indeed, we could, is that what you want my dear?" He asked, before taking another sip of burning brandy.

    "Perhaps, but perhaps not, we are so close to the capital after all, and if they are so fierce to have taken it so quickly," she mock gasped.

    "You speak wisely, maybe neutrality would be best, at least until the rest of the Alliance is ready for war."

    "The Alliance is not what it once was of course," She countered, tapping her chin. "Alterac is gone, Gilneas hides behind a wall, the Quel'Dorei dance in their trees. All the while so many of our own are deep in the South and East, bordering on bankrupt or haven't even recouped their strength."

    "Though we cannot say some will not return to the Alliance, if only to keep themselves from being the next target," he mused.

    "You speak the truth, but then, will it be enough?" Illucia mused, "I never thought the capital to fall in a single day after all, this Frost King must have quite a force."

    "A fair question, but if they are so mighty would they seek allies at all. Thus, I am left wondering; would they be able to win without… internal assistance?" He added.

    "Jandice is well regarded in Dalaran, but she knows where her loyalties lie, as do we," his wife said.

    "And where is that my love?"

    She smirked in that way that made a pleased shiver run up his spine.

    "Why, wherever it is needed for our family to thrive."

    "Of that we are a mind, but then, what to do with this?" He waved the letter, "That barracks of Regional Defenders, Teranas foisted upon us will expect an answer."

    His wife's frown was well worn, "Just be glad none of his pet paladins were sent with them or we would be under martial law already."

    She tilted her head, humming in thought, "Perhaps we should call Bartimus? I am sure we can think up an excuse to try and open a portal to the palace. A hidden code or layered message, just to give us a chance to look upon this Frost King for ourselves and measure his merits."

    "You suggest we take a great risk," He then chuckled, "But then, those can pay off the best, can they not?"

    "My intuition has never been wrong before," she hummed.

    "It's settled then," Alexi said, pushing himself up, "We can give the Defenders some busy work and arrange a message back to this Frost King for a meeting to see if he is worth supporting."

    Illucia nodded, "We can arrange an extraction with Jandice and claim to have been spying on the trolls if worst comes to worst."

    "Good idea, you get to the letters, I shall see to the troops. Alterac is pleasant this time of year, is it not?"

    They shared a laugh as he strode out of the lounge and his wife took to the desk.

    One way or the other, the Barov family would thrive in what was to come, of that they had to be certain.

    Winterax Hold was not a grand place, but nor was it to be underestimated.

    Built on a raised plateau and backed against the high and unyielding valley walls, with a steep drop on nearly all sides. Crafted from grey bricks into a muli-layered stronghold, lined with towers on each wall and sturdy homes within. At the pinnacle sat the Temple of Quetz'lun the cunning hunter and swift Shepard of souls. Outside the walls and stretching into the valley proper was a vast array of yurts, each overseeing their own farms, be it yaks, pig or the few plants that could be cultivated so high.

    It was a comforting, pleasing sight to be sure, rustic and domestic perhaps, but on the surface, peaceful and sedate; but one could never forget that furious battle was never far in such a sparsely hospitable valley. Still, the peaceable aura was a stark contrast to the ongoing debate within the temple.

    Korrak wasn't an old troll quite yet, save perhaps by the standards of a Dire Troll. But he had sparred with Zul'jin when the man was grown and he a youth, so there was little denying the yellow tinged beard on his orange skin was losing its luster.

    He sat at the head of the tribes family heads, be they hunter and Mystic, or of the spiritual caste, with the Seers and Shadow Hunter; Despites all of whom still debating, Korrak could tell the wind of words was calming.

    "Yes, the Drakkari may not understand what they offer, or the risks. But our goddess sees wisdom in joining our cause to theirs, and with dragons to our name we could rule this valley unopposed!" Argued Ganli the Seer.

    Rezrelek scowled, "None would deny our patron's wit or willingness to aid us, but not all our neighbors have been our foes, no? And the valley has been good to us-"

    "If one ignored the Frostwolves cantankerousness," Sniped Banlan, the Hunter rubbing his healed arm.

    "Competition has always been fierce," Counselled Korrak. "The Frostwolves present a new neighbor and rival, but are no different than the Wildpaw or Icewing, who have often quarreled with us."

    "Quarreled, yes," Banlan noted. "But talking can sometimes happen, but the Frostwolves keep themselves apart from us, from all and the Drakkari works with Orcs, I dislike this."

    Korrak rumbled, "I will not defend their manner, besides, maybe Malakk would find a use for them?"

    "This sounds like surrender, did we not wish to leave the quarreling of the empire behind?" Rezrelek sighed.

    "I would expect more fire from one of our heroes," Hissed Ganli, who was quickly shrugged off.

    "I fight when I must, for us to survive, I do not see a need for so much of our blood to be shed and our lands changed, and that is if, if, these Drakkari win."

    Korrak's neck cracked as he rolled his head from side to side, before saying, "We have hidden long and well in this valleys, under our patrons protection. Now she wishes us to aid the Drakkari, I think there is merit in this. If they treat us fairly and we fight cannily, even the Drakkari's defeat may mean little to us in the long run."

    Rezrelek arched his brow at that, but it was the elderly Mystic Gileken who spoke. "The humans would struggle to tell us apart from the Drakkari. Convince some neighbors to join us and we can cause chaos when the Alliance marches by."

    "If we are careful, and secure our territories before we strike, I think we should consider this. But-" Korrak added, seeing several of the wary faces who Rezrelek had spoken for looking mutinous. "I would meet with the Drakkari's Speaker, take their measures and ensure our fair treatment first."

    That seemed to have quieted the whispers of contention and Korrak nodded, "Then we shall meet with their Speaker. As to our neighbors, have them watched closely, they may be willing to aid us, or perhaps not, but we must be on guard."

    With the call to action made, all that was left to do now was wait, and pray.

    Kael'thas had always like Antonidas, not just for his brilliant mind of calm demeanor, but for his taste. the Archmages study was a perfect example, perfectly rounded and resting atop the Violet Citdael where the confluence of Ley Lines was strongest.

    Crystals of purified mana drifted in silver ringlets outside, carrying with them an array of intricate enchantments. While the interior was a brilliant example of magically folded space, a vast array of books, idling experiments and arcane script adorning the walls, but all artfully arranged.

    The bearded humans, robes blowing gently in the breeze stood upon the balcony, a pipe in hand, "A Prince Kael'thas, please join me, I was just taking in the morning light."

    Kael'thas nodded, coming up to the mans side on the gently lavender touched, tiled balcony and joined him at looking out across the rising lake. In days of 'old' it had at times come to surround Dalaran itself. But the growing city's need for farmland had forced them to raise the foundations and rearrange the coast as best they could.

    'Of course that is not where his gaze is truly drawn,' Kael'thas mused, not able to make out Lordaeron's raised plateau without a tele-scoping spell and lacking the desire to do so.

    "Do you wish to be left with your thoughts, my friend?" Kael'thas asked.

    Tapping his pipe along the railing, ash disintegrating as it passed the defensive barriers, Antonidas shook his head. "No, I was never one to mourn when there was something practical to be done; I merely wished to stretch after a long night and reflect a moment."

    "I take it the boy is still proving troublesome?" Kael'thas mused, as they strode back into the smooth, stone chamber.

    "Thule Ravenclaw is a bright lad, too bright by half I would say," Antonidas chuckled. "So happy to be the center of attention, he wishes to contact his king, and seek permissions to drag it all out."

    Kael'thas snorted, "All while seeing what concessions he can extract from Dalaran for the use of his keep." Kael'thas shook his head, "We should simply move to occupy it, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission, not that I think Greymane should care."

    Antonidas sat down at a small, almost breakfast-nook like pavilion and motioned for Kael'thas to join him as a tray of fruits and tea materialized between them. "I did hint that some may feel that way, even if we voted against such acts, there is no reason to give Greymane a pretext for invasion after all."

    "He has not the strength to challenge the Alliance," Kael'thas countered once again, even as he took up an orange slice for himself.

    Antonidas was mixing berries with that yoghurt concoction he liked so much, his tone coolly methodical. "Only if we defeat these troll quickly, which may not be the case, and whatever happens the faster we forsake our standards, the weaker the Alliance becomes."

    Kael'thas sighed, toying with a strawberry, "So you four argued. Whatever the case, do you foresee it being a problem?"

    Antonidas swallowed his mouthful and shook his head, "No, I have Arugal speaking with him today; hopefully his fellow countrymen shall resolve this matter in its entirety. But, I assume you wished to speak with me?"

    Kael'thas nodded, "It was swifter this way," he said, drawing a letter from his gold and white robes, "A letter from Jaina's father, requesting she be sent home should war approach the city."

    Antonidas took the letter resolutely, "An understandable request, and there was something else I assume?"

    Kael'thas grimaced, appetite quite diminished, "Arcanist Doan of Lordaeron was most distressed by our agents inability to evacuate the royal family, and our unwitting inaction."

    Antonidas frowned, letting silver utensils clink against glass, "I assume he was informed the Nether-ways between Dalaran and the palace were obstructed?"

    Kael'thas nodded, "He was, and through that we finally learned how this was the case. I even checked my own sources with the private libraries of Quel'Thalas to be sure."

    Antonidas's bushy eyebrow rose, "Historians, are we to see the return or trolls wielding Arcanum?"

    Kael'thas tsked, "Hardly, though this may be worse. I believe that while trolls fight this war, their hands are guided by Nerubians, some of the worlds first true arcanists."

    Antonidas clasped his hands, a small frown adorning his aged features, "That would explain much if all I have heard of their legends is true. We shall need to gather our sources and ensure we are not taken by surprise again. Whether the Nerubians lead or are led by these Drakkari, their support could disrupt one of the Alliance's greatest advantages."

    Kael'thas nodded, but couldn't resist the rejoinder, "I doubt true arcanists would be led by trolls anywhere," he raised a hand quickly, "But I agree we must explore all options. I shall gather the resources I reference before the next meeting."

    "Thank you, once we have a stronger base to build our spell-work off, we may be able to bypass their defenses, or at the very least lock their casters down in the capital."

    "A wise idea, let us meet again soon, Antonidas."

    "Al diel shala, Kael'thas."

    Aiden_Perenolde rubbed his stubbled chin as he looked over the fine script from the depth of his cave dwelling.

    It had been carried by a bird and addressed to Lord Agrovane's manor near Tarren Mill. Only to fall short of its destination by a day thanks to an eager hunter looking to help feed their camp and inconvenience the Alliance as a fringe benefit.

    'Others will likely be arriving at Fallrook Estate and Soutshore's Magistrate, perhaps we should move up the date of his execution?' Aiden mused, before dismissing the thought. He had much grander schemes to be thinking on.

    "Aliden, Beve," He called gently, and like magic his children bled into the flickering light of his candle, looking intrigued.

    "Yes father?" Beve asked.

    "Does Falconcrest still have any messenger birds we can make use of I wonder?" He asked.

    Aliden scoffed, "Only his favorites, the one's he won't let us eat."

    "Well hopefully he will let us borrow one to send a message, because if this is right, then I have discovered our path back to power."

    Nodding they turned, his son biting back over his shoulder, "I hope this goes better than your last plan, father."

    "Well, it could hardly go any worse," Beve chuckled as they disappeared into the darkness, Aiden's mind already turning over the information.

    'Even if we do not join this Frost King, in the chaos of war, bandits thrive!'

    From his perch upon the coast of Lordamere Lake, beneath Alterac's mountains, Grom Hellscream rested his chin on his hands and frowned at the distant, gleaming city of Lordaeron; finally fallen, but by hands other than an Orcs.

    "Chieftain, do you have a plan?"

    Grom turned to face his followers, their eyes gleaming as his did, reminding him to move, to force the blood through his veins and push his weary body into action, lest he fall like the others.

    "Yes, the beginnings of one, but we will need to move swiftly, rouse the camp and ready a runner to meet with the Frostwolves."

    He glanced back over his shoulder, a small smirk forming on his lips, "An opportunity has been presented to us, and we'd be fools not to grasp it, so let this world once again know the cry of the Warsong clan!"

    Tal'Vass had always been too land-like for Captain Hooktusk.

    Oh sure, the Western mountains ran along the coastline and the Shadowglen loved to fish and hunt their foes along the waves, so she liked them better than the smug Gurubashi or Jinth'Ali.

    But still, the mountains were high and dry and almost everything save the some of the farms and dams was underground or woven into the rock, where she couldn't even feel her long pink braids be rustled by the winds.

    Still, one couldn't deny they were good hosts.

    Pulling a Hookah away from her bright blue lips, she drank in the taste, "Ah, I haven't had a flavor like this in an age."

    Krag'jin pulled the silver touched metal pipe from his mouth, tapping it against the whicker arm rests of his chair. "Are the Drakkari so lacking fine spice, captain?"

    She snorted, "They have fine things to be sure," She said, motioning vaguely at the ornate and richly carved Hookah sitting between them. "But even their magical forests cannot replicate the variety seen in the South."

    They sat across from one another, totally alone because Hooktusk insisted, if only to get away from Malakk's assigned advisor. The troll was competent but too damned nervous and pestering for her liking, an it wasn't as though she wasn't welcome.

    "Something to consider them if the Drakkari are staying, hm?" He mused, looking over his rounded stone walls, adorned with engravings and art, scrolls or steel, old and new.

    "You sound bitter," She offered back, taking another puff and letting the orange smoke billow from he nostrils.

    "More vexed," Krag'jin said, "If we had known they were to stay... Well things might be different now."

    Hooktusk knew better than to pry and so said, "That sounds to me like you are agreeing."

    "Tentatively," Krag'jin said, tongue swift and sharp. "There are matters of what we are offered, not wholly outlined in his missive and we must act quickly, no?"

    "Indeed we must," She said, sinking deeper into the cushioned chair, "Which is why I am to secure your support, through almost any means necessary."

    "Almost?" Snorted the forest troll.

    "Almost," She repeated, "Malakk's of a more merciful mind than many, he won't care for it if humans are slaughtered in droves and packs or driven out just for jollies."

    Krag'jin waved her off, "I care little if the humans remain, so long as our rule over the lands is returned, to walk and weave through the woods again. To build in our own forests and live free of fear of invasion... Yes, I would accept the humans here for that."

    "Sounds to me like we have an agreement, ya?" She sat up and flicked her dark blue captains hat to her head. "Cos we'll be wanting your help with Fenris Keep."

    "Fenris?" He mused before shaking his head, "In time, that land is rule by a human name Ravenclaw. He's Gilnean too and while the Alliance may secure his island for their counter attack they won't do so swiftly."

    "So you want us to hit somewhere else first? Cos I must say, once we're done here, Malakk wants us making a blockade, so we can't hover coastbound forever."

    "You won't need to," Krag'jin smirked, "And in fact this will help you. I want Baron Silverlaine dead and his keep in our hands. With that, we can move more freely to secure Fenris Isle and provide a clear path to Dalaran from our woods and coast. A good deal yes?"

    Hooktusk's throat rumbled in a rather goblin way, she never did pick up the Drakkari's penchant for clicks.

    "I think there is potential, but Malakk may want to offer surrender first."

    Krag'jin flicked one of his long, pointy ears and said, "You can offer surrender, you serve Malakk after all. I do not."

    "No, or not yet?" She teased.

    "Let us see how softly he speaks to me in the coming days," Krag'jin waved his pipe, "But whatever the case, I can secure Silverpine and offer my aid. If you aid us first."

    "How do you intend to hold the rest of it?" She mused, "I don't want ya'll getting distracted now."

    Krag'jin chuckled, "The lords here are hated. The king hides behind his wall. The South may seem safe, but its path is perilous. As to the humans," he shrugged, "I know more of them than most. I know of the Pyrewood Council and I know Harvest-witches who may welcome a change; Seraphaine is a reliable woman with little love for her king."

    Taking another spicy puff, Hooktusk grinned, "I am told Greymane was among those who ordered the Speakers deaths, so Malakk cannot be too made at me I am thinking."

    "We have an agreement then?" Krag'jin asked, eyes suddenly sharp.

    "Send some of your giant sea turtles the lakes way and I shall ensure the keep, its lord and their Commander Springvale fall before us."

    She reached across the low table and over the brimming light of their shared Hook they clasped arms, a promise made.

    Priscilla_Ashvane watched Daelan as the man loomed over the map table. His arms spread wide, expression coldly furious as he had been since dramatically torching the missive from Lordaeron.

    "Whispered words tell us Gilneas sees fit to leave us to our own devices. The invaders have not yet approached the cape and may not do so, instead our best guess is they are marshalling their strength. Thus, for now we must treat the northern coast as beyond our reach and focus on landing our forces at Hillsbrad to join with-

    Duke Falrevere's fist crashed against the table, scattering miniatures and tokens as he roared, "I refuse! Those wretched mongrels cost me a dock and no less than a third of my trading fleet, yet you want to let them be!?"

    "Mind your tongue, Falrevere," Lord_Arthur_Waycrest snapped, "Do not forget you were granted a seat at this war council as a courtesy, not as a right."

    Falrevere's sneer spoke volumes, his son and daughter looking ready to draw swords on the matter, before Daelan cut through the haze.

    "The trolls have agents beneath waves in those mutated sharks, while Gnomeragan's navy has fallen into disrepair."

    "Do you doubt our sailors and Tidesages?" Lord_Stormsong spoke, mock offence tinging his every slippery word.

    "He speaks wisely," Falrevere ground out, "We can sail circles around those bloated vessels, if you would only let us."

    "I. Was not. Finished," Daelin ground out, the map crinkling beneath his hands, as he muttered, "Dragons, they also have dragons, while our own areal units are sparse or in play elsewhere."

    He lifted his head high and motioned to the Western Coast, "Despite the forces they have arrayed, their flagships strange armor and high cannons, they refused to approach our coast. This makes it clear they fear challenging us in our own seas, so they will likely create a blockade instead."

    James Ashvane hummed, "Would sending forces to land then not be playing into their hands? If they fear us, surely we can best them."

    "We might win," Daelin noted coldly, "But even a victory under these circumstances would be devastating, leaving Kul'Tiras laid bare for pirates or Gilnean intrusion. As it is, they can do little harm from their ships now, so it is best to drive them out of the land first, then harry them to the ocean floor as they retreat."

    Priscilla glanced to her husband who rested a hand on his dueling blade for but a moment, then stilled, unwilling to move, not yet at least.

    'James if we do not act soon, Daelin's cowardice will destroy us all!'

    "Your defeat by the dragons stains your mind, Daelin," Falrevere spat, "Perhaps one more confident-"

    He leapt back with a curse at the flash of Daelan's blade, "Never speak to me as such again lest you wish to face me in a duel."

    Daelin's blade was struck by Jessi_Falrevere's own, "Level a blade at my father again and see what comes of it!?"

    Arthur looked ready to draw his blade, and Falrevere's son Morgrann reached for his war hammer, threats beginning to spill from their lips.

    "Enough all of you!" Katherine snapped, "Our enemy is out there, not here with us."

    "Tell that to the man who drew his sword on our family," Morgrann groused.

    "Tempers are running high for us all, perhaps a recess to clear our heads?" Priscilla offered.

    Falrevere scoffed and marched away, jacket billowing, "You will be lucky to see my household offer aid with that fool in charge!"

    "We will speak with them," James offered companionably, Pricilla sending Katherine a friendly smile before following her husband, mind awhirl.

    'A foreigner like Falrevere could never rule Kul'Tiras, but if we are able to secure his support and that of Stormsong, we can challenge Daelin for stewardship of the fleet and give the Duke a cushy position to sooth his ego.'

    It would most certainly become a duel of will and blades, but Priscilla was confident she and James could deal with the broken Proudmoore's.

    'Their best days are long behind them, while ours are just beginning!'

    The letter had been tossed into the fire in short order, Galen watching with an uncertain heart as the paper turned to ash.

    His father was impassive before the flames and Prince Muradin quietly contemplative, it was painful contrast to their earlier cheer.

    Repressing a sigh, Galen made to join his father, hand reaching out to clap him on the shoulder as the man had sometimes done him, when he was inconsolable and not even fury could be drawn from him.

    "Fa-"

    His father whirled around like a storm, grasping his arm and snarling, "If you so much as suggest we treat with trolls, the animals that killed Teranas. I, I will-"

    "Never suggest such a thing father," Galen hissed, "Kill them all I say."

    His father did not release him, eyes still wild and desperate for a fight when Muradin thankfully cut the tension.

    "A toast," offered the Dwarf quietly, eying the feuding father and son with a coolness that suited his frigid home. "To a great man and to a worthy promise. The Wise King shall be avenged by us, no doubt, but let us remember his grand life as friends."

    His father sagged, "Yes, let's, then on the morrow we march," he dropped down to the table and motioned for Galen to join then.

    Ignoring the stinging of his arm, Galen did just that, grief and hope now absent as his mind clicked and whirred like some cold clock, the time ticking down ever faster.

    Across the land and seas, word spread, schemes were hatched and armies rose.

    Within his palace, Frost King Malakk stands overlooking the royal gardens, his words to the his attaché, a young half trollish woman, with dark blue hair and tan skin, are quiet and firm.

    "Summon Queen Lianne, I would speak with her."
    ___________________________________________________________
    NOTES:
    Well this took me awhile, seriously I had to comb through the next 3 chapters and write a ton of new scenes for this one to properly explore the setting and cast, so I hope it proved engaging. In many ways this is Moments in War 2, electric Boogaloo, but I needed to start setting stuff up for the future which was just sort of 'introduced' in the initial draft.

    As it is, the Winter War arc is probably the longest arc and has the most expansive range of focal characters and ongoing storylines, so I am likely gonna have to adjust how I tell the story to try and keep everything coherent and restructure what's been written in the draft to better keep it all inline XD

    Regardless, next chapter things will be a bit more focused now that most of the players are on the board. Also it was news to me Fenris Keep belonged to Gilneas, but it works out and more to the point does line up with their naming conventions, so huzzah XD Also thank you to that one reviewer @Mook who suggested I use Imgur!

    I tried to place each scene consecutively from the North to the South, mostly just so there'd be some kind of through-line in terms of location and also time.

    As always, thanks for reading, any feedback, questions or comments are most welcome!
     
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    • The Winter War: Part 1 - Dangers & Diplomacy
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    • The Winter War: Part 1 - Dangers & Diplomacy ​
    Winter was truly coming to Lordaeron, the vast glades and fields slowly fading beneath drifting snow, as strong winds howled across the planes.

    All the while, battle was joined between the snow-capped mountain paths, twin Drakkari legions on beast back of land and air clashed against gold and lavender barriers that swirled and pulsed with power, the soldiers within, braced for battle.

    High Priestess Tua-Tua brushed fingers through her green bangs, her other hand holding tight to an ornate staff inside of which pulsed roiling shadows. Enchanted robes of orange, silver and green flowing down her frame and rested against the lightly armored Mammoth she rode upon.

    A frown marred soft features as she watched alchemical fire violently squashed and suffocated beneath layers of magic, while the Light held firm.

    "We need a new strategy if we are to stall or harry them, I am thinking," Her words were murmured but carried into the skies above.

    Heb'Jin weaving through the air atop Braka'Ta, laughter in his heart, "Circle around for another go, we shall loose our attacks in waves to disrupt their casting!"

    "Chieftain," called his orange haired Wing-Mate, "The High Priestess requests we fall back!"

    "Not yes," he called, "I've had precious little honor this war, no chance I'm stopping before we try everything. Fall in, my kin, fall in and fly with me!"

    Upon the ground and beneath layers of magic and holy power, Sage Truthbearer toyed with his moustache, "Seems the grounds troops are making to fall back, but the fliers are coming around again."

    Gavinrad the Dire nodded, "Then this is the time," they turned the martialed priests and clerics at their back, "Let your holy chorus join with ours, brothers and sisters!"

    The choirs voice rose in beautiful unison.

    "We Stand as one, within the light!"

    Sage raised his hammer, "For the Holy Light shall illuminate even the darkest shadow, its magnificence more beautiful than the sun!"

    "Its glory is shared, by one and all!"

    Gavinrad's dark hair spilled over his sharp features as his mace was raised high and he called, "Let our hopes and joys, our righteous fury and sacred unity pierce the veil and bring unto us salvation!"

    "Through the Light, our glories one!"

    The paladins crossed their weapons over one another and roared, "Holy spear!"

    Tua-Tua felt the change before she saw it, the grand shields guarding the bulwark twisting and warping akin to a whirlpool, the golden light flaring with such intensity it stung to look upon.

    The chieftain standing before her bellowed, "Word Priests, ready your spells!"

    Within the skies, Heb'Jin cheered, "Ready your spells and to-" He weaved sharply through the air, his mount screeching as the searing spear of golden, as tall as any towered pillar flew by them.

    "They missed!"

    The spear exploded.

    No Holy Light brushed against Saronite Spells.

    Instead a burning, blistering, golden light, akin to the sun flooded the sky.

    "MY EYES!" Heb'jin was not the only one to howl, as sun spots and blistering pain flooded their senses.

    Gavinrad looked upon their foes and raised his hand, "Kerr Ironsight!"

    He needn't have spoken, already the dark haired Dwarven woman loosed her command, "Water the earth in troll blood!" She bellowed.

    Her declaration followed by blurring battle riders, the shrill shrieking of Gryphon's filled the air, twisted and distorted, as hammers sung with lightning.

    Heb'jin heard the crackling of lightning, but he leaned left, his mount right, the sounds made no sense!

    Then the Wildhammer struck, the first of three searing, roaring hammers of spiritual fury, tearing through flesh and ripping their bodies asunder.

    He had not even the time to scream, as the Wildhammer joined the fray, his forces had only moments more.

    Tua-Tua hissed, her eyes already recovered from the sting, and her prayers sending healing waves across the Legion when-

    A cannon ball shot through the air and struck the white armored Chieftain who stood before her mammoth. Splattering his head and its searing steal sealing the wound shut as the blood struck her mount, making his trumpet and bellow.

    "High Priestess!" She had barely had the chance to calm her mount before a Frozen Warlord leapt between her and another cannot shot, the steel ball striking Saronite steel and losing all momentum.

    Up above she could hear screaming and lightning and thus bellowed, "Fall back, woven retreat, loose Spirit Beasts and the Holy Wardens!"

    Another troll was struck, by lightning this time, the commander falling to her knees even as her forces rallied, a Dire troll catching and lobbing back a cannon ball only for it to bounce off arcane domes.

    The Frozen Warlord took to her back as her mount turned and stampeded away with the rest; while roaring and swirling masses of air and lightning joined with howling spectral wolves and Shoveltusk.

    Standing at the most forward point of the Bulwark, Gavinrad and Sage looked upon their efforts, the latter murmuring, "You want to let them leave?"

    Gavinrad nodded, a scowl on his face, "Few things would please me more than to run them down, but we do not yet know how far they are from reinforcements."

    "A wise precaution, it would not do to risk our position either," Sage mused, watching the few fliers that could escape doing so.

    Wing Leader Ironsight was not however calling her troops back, instead swooping down and targeting the smattering of still twitching trolls, either those struck low by cannons or lightning during the escape.

    Gavinrad grimace and clapped the nearest captain in the shoulder, "Head out there and make sure we actually capture the survivors."

    "Capture, Lord Paladin?" The man in golden winged helm asked.

    "Yes, capture," Gavinrad groused as Sage blew on the horn signaling the fliers to fall back. "We cannot let ourselves become brutal as our foes or victory shall have no meaning at all."

    The captain still a moment before nodding, "As you say, Lord Paladin! Come on lads, let's go rangle-em up!" Drawing his blade and cheering as he mounted his horse and led his squad from the confines of the Bulwark.

    Sage was watching the skies as he whispered, "If it makes things easier for you my friend, I shall oversee the prisoners."

    Gavinrad sighed, "You may as well, better we disperse any frustration among our flock than let it fester."

    Their attention was drawn to the sudden arrival of Kerr and her fellow wing-mates; words of commendation became their focus, before moving to plot heir next move.

    All the while, in the background peasants worked with haste to dig up the area and lay spiked barricades, each teaming with enchantments.

    Queen Lianne had been watching the gardens from the cushioned alcove when the invitation came. The knock emanating from the doors of she and husbands' former chambers like a boulder against her ears when she saw how it made Callia stir from her restless slumber.

    Racing towards it she forced the grand doors open with silent swiftness, a hiss on her lips as she scowled up at the confounded troll guard.

    "My daughter still rests," Lianne forced out, with a modicum of restraint.

    Another voice, lower down than could come from the looming guard but taller than Lianne directed her gaze to the right. Before her stood a troll, maybe nine feet tall compared to the Drakkari's mountains. She had small tusks and tan skin that had something icy underlaying it, with stark, ocean blue hair, shaved on each side and tied back in a ponytail.

    The troll hugged a tablet to her chest, "This one, De'Jana, apologizes for the uncouth interruption, but his majesty, Frost King Malakk invites you to join him in the sitting room."

    Resisting the urge to lick her dried lips, Lianne turned the words over in her head, 'An invitation, but in reality a summons I cannot refuse when imprisoned in my own home!'

    She looked to Callia, still sleeping fretfully and her mind turned to Arthas, sealed inside a guarded room across the hall, his voice hoarse from shouting expletives.

    'Will he take them while I am away? Will the guards hurt them? What does he want!?'

    Her mind was awhirl, but even knowing it would frighten and pain her daughter, Lianne knew she could not hide from this, let alone ignore it. She had no choice but to dance to the trolls tune until rescue came.

    Steeling herself Lianne whispered, "Please tell your highness I will arrive momentarily."

    The guard and De'jana offered deep bows and let her close the door.

    Lianne cast them from her thoughts and turned to Callia.

    'Please don't cry dear.'

    In the days since the city had been taken Malakk had been struggling to find an ideal place to hold meetings.

    The throne room was a wreck and bereft of easy access to sources. He had made for the war rooms only to find navigating the doors to be a hindrance. Meanwhile the libraries, perhaps the most ideal place had been turned into a research station by the Nerbubians and his own arcanists. Soon meant to be serving dual purposes as their main hall for casting to keep the mages of Dalaran barred from the city.

    Thus, finally, he had settled on what he was told was the Teranas's private sanctum, his library, his personal study and recreation chamber. Otherwise known as his sitting room.

    Near the heart of the castle and looking out upon the central gardens it was one of the tallest rooms in the palace. Flushed with thick red carpets, walls lined with art, a large fireplace, a table Malakk had been told was for something called billiards and a second floor holding the royal family's personal library.

    Despite his musing mind, he was listening attentively as his Speaker blew into the room, robes flowing like water.

    "We found him your grace, Malaka'Raz's former escorts found the executor," the youthful troll nearly cheered.

    Clasping his hands, Malakk felt his chest unclenching, the place where he had wounded himself with the blood oath warming contentedly.

    "He is dead then?" Malakk asked, tilting his head back against his mobile throne.

    Zala'Raz nodded, a light chuckle on his lips. "It is as you say your grace, apparently he hid himself among the prisoners and sought to escape during a shift change. They kept quiet on the promise he would release them as well, only for him to leave them behind, thus, they alerted the guards."

    Malakk huffed, "Dishonorable conduct betrays itself, such is the way of things."

    Zala'Raz waved a handful of slowly fading documents, tinged with yellow and rough edges. "These are the prison records, for both the royal dungeon and the capital prison. Knowing your plans and having a taste for poetic justice, the guards let the prisoners decide their torturers fate."

    "Fitting," Malakked said with a sharp nod, "Do you think there's a chance it could work, are the prisoners crimes worthy of reconsideration?"

    Zala'Raz shrugged, "Some I would say, many are in the capital prison for petty things like theft or debt. Some reside in the royal dungeons for matters like heresy or striking nobleman, while others should not be considered at all." There was a grim lilt to the trolls voice before he patted the pages, "But I shall have a full report ready by the morning, you grace."

    "Very good-"

    The pair were drawn from their discussion by the gentle announcement echoing through the wooden doors, "Queen Lianne to see you, Frost King Malakk."

    Zala'Raz was already moving, vanishing into the background behind shelves as Malakk called back, "I welcome her."

    He was rewarded with the doors swinging open to reveal the queen herself. Bedecked in an emerald green and gold-lined dress, her slim, tan face was framed by faded blonde curls. Her stance radiated tension even as she remained austere and entered the chamber with De'jana at her back, coming to a stop several feet away from him.

    Motioning to the nearby chairs, among them some sized for humans and Wolvar, he said, "If you wish to take a seat, please do and we can talk."

    Lianne watched him, warily, eyes flickering between his gaze and the chairs, the garden and back, before she finally answered, "If it is of no consequences, I would be more comfortable standing."

    "It is of no consequence to me if you wish to make yourself uncomfortable to demonstrate your valor, and you De'jana?" he said, trying to humor her.

    The half troll glanced at the queen before shaking her head, "I shall stand your grace."

    Malakk snorted, "Now I look lazy, but at least this way we are closer to eye level," he added with some humor, even still he needed to look down and Lianne up for their gazes to meet.

    Smile fading, he clasped his hands and spoke promptly, "Tell me, have you and your family any complaints on the actions of my guards and followers?"

    Once again, the answer took time as she searched his face for some deception, a trick or veiled threat before answering.

    "My daughter and I have been treated as well as hostages can expect to be treated, however I must beg a question."

    Malakk nodded, "Speak and I shall answer."

    Lianne took a deep but gentle breath and kept her tone as soft as possible, knowing well of trolls' choleric tempers. "I must ask if it was necessary to separate my son from us and strip his room bare."

    The troll king shrugged, his powerful shoulders not obscured behind his loose, sequenced robes of silver and dark blues, his low baritone reminding her of a sharpening stone. "Had he not made attempts to strike at my followers with everything from bed posts to nails I would not have needed to do so. If you can ensure he will behave he can have some comforts back, but until then my options for dealing with him are sparse and this was the kindest avenue available to me."

    Lianne stiffened and answered, "I can assure you that will not be a problem if you simply allow him his furnishing besides a single mattress and quilt."

    "I will consider it, but trust must be earned, and he has done much to wither my limited good will," He said dismissively. The troll was not entirely looking at her now as his gaze glanced to stacks of tomes scattered around what had once been her husband's pavilion!

    Lianne's temper flickered and flared, "He deserves kinder treatment as your hostage; he is the crown prince."

    "He's a brat," Malakk groused.

    "You murdered his father!" Lianne snapped, before drawing back, shivers running through her heart.

    The troll however just looked bored as he answered, "His father who allowed my friend to be tortured and then ordered his execution for simply being a troll." An ugly sneer spread on his face, "You will struggle to make me weep for the man who did that, Queen Lianne."

    She swallowed, awaiting some harsh reprisal, but the troll seemed content to let his mind wander as if awaiting a response, and finally she found her voice. Motioning to towards the city, "Your retort has led thousands to their deaths."

    "I had a similar conversation with Uther the Lightbringer," he answered, tone strangely soft before his expression grew sharp and his tone rough. "I offered the chance for those who ordered the deed and saw it done to face me alone and was informed not only would that be refused, but even had he accepted war would still be inevitable. Am I to let injustice happen to my kin but spare the perpetrators? A true king could allow no such thing."

    His finger tapped, the sound echoing and resounding, "Every action I have taken is to bring justice and protect my people, as is my duty… And with that fact in mind, I have an offer for you, Queen Lianne of Lordaron."

    "I am a captive audience," She answered carefully. The troll looked at her for a moment, brow quirked before a seemingly amused huff escaped him, De'jana clearly smothering a laugh a her side.

    Whatever humor had possessed him faded as he spoke, "I have claimed this land and her subjects as part of my empire, this means they are mine to lead and protect. Even if it means greater battles with those to the East and South."

    "You do not have to fight, treaties can be signed and sworn on Light and Honor," Lianne insisted, not believing her own words.

    Malakk shrugged, "Were I to take my legions and leave, your people would pursue us, maybe in a month, or in a year when your son took the throne. A new stage in this war is inevitable whatever we might wish, but I would see it end quickly and with as little loss of life as possible."

    Lianne arched her brow at such a ridiculous claim.

    "I mean that," Malakk said grimly. "Your armies must be defeated so that they can do no more harm to themselves or others, but there is no cause to create more suffering and death." His voice grew grander and though no louder his manner seemed to shift, losing the almost languid air of before to radiate authority and confidence.

    "Those who raise spell and sword against me do not grasp the harm they shall lay upon the land and her people. I ask you, Queen Lianne, to aid me in this war, to see that it reaches a swift and decisive conclusion. Heed my questions, advise me, offer your insights and rise high in my esteem."

    "You… You think to suggest I betray my kingdom," She almost scoffed, "For you?"

    "I ask only that you help me put an end to this sad story before it grows more tragic. But," he added gently, "It would be cruel to ask of your aid in strategy and blood. Instead, what I seek is for your presence to help… Ease people into this transfer of power, and for you to share your political whiles with me. Nothing that we could not find in your records and books but made all the more worthwhile by being 'your' insights."

    He offered her his hand, as if asking to dance.

    Seeing the giant, slightly furred hand before her Lianne bit back instinctive revulsion and steeled her nerves, "What if I were to refuse?" Watching that tri fingered digit, large enough to encircle her chest and crush it like a grape.

    Malakk shrugged, "Then this war will likely last longer than it needs, my rule over the people of this land will be made more difficult, necessitating more of our number here, while you and your children will lose any ability to influence the future of this state."

    Did he mean to kill them, or merely note their powerless place, his words said the latter, but all Lianne knew of trolls said the former.

    De'jana leaned forward, "If this one may, your graces, this would mean your family would come to reside in the Temple City of Gundrak. Cared for and in safety, as befits our obligations, but sadly far from all you know and bereft of the power to influence policy."

    Lianne still did not know what to make of the strange troll, nor did she trust the words spoken by any such creature. Yet the possibility of being sent across the sea, of her children being lost to Lordaeron for perhaps years? At least within the capital city liberation stood a chance, yet to surrender, even if only in her husbands stead...

    'I am a queen in name only, not by blood. My surrender will not stop the good people of Lordaeron, but it may soften the trolls, may ease the tensions long enough for this war to be won…'

    She would be hated, lambasted, seen as a traitor to her people but, but… 'If I keep my children far from this sordid deal, but safely enshrined in the capital. Then they can retain their ranks as royal heirs when the war is done. They could banish me for my treason to secure their place and the royal line will be spared.'

    She looked again to Malakk, then down at his hand, her own pressed tightly against her gown as her heart thumped in her ears.

    'This is politics, the dance of misinformation and courtly intrigue, I know this game… I must merely play the hand dealt to me carefully.'

    Swallowing her pride and her shame, Lianne placed her hand in the trolls and offered a curt curtsy, "I accept your offer, Frost King Malakk."

    His grin was wide and his tone light, "Thank you Queen Lianne, I promise we are going to do great things together."

    It seemed she had scarcely pulled her hand away before the queen reagent found herself in a carriage and taken across the capital.

    Seeing their queen alive and in good health was meant to assuage fears and doubts, while further signify the Drakkari's strength, but soon enough she would be expected to do more than just exist as a trophy.

    Shaking the thought away she continued to look over the capital, the white stone city that had been the dreams of her youth as an Easterling born noble girl, still stood. The walls were being repaired with newly made bricks, but the mages tower was still little more than rubble looked over by monsters. Her heart quietly soared at the sight of the church, unharmed and undimmed, even as her soul quailed at the sight of people peeking out from their homes or even trying to go on with their lives staring wide eyed at her.

    'Whatever joy they find in my presence will be short lived,' Lianne thought bitterly.

    "Your grace, does something trouble you?" De'jana intoned, easily able to keep up with the carriage at a walking clip, despite being so much smaller than other trolls.

    'Endless things trouble me, you among them,' she wanted to retort, but a distraction from her morbid mind was almost welcome and a part of her needed to know this truth.

    "Merely lost in thought, but tell me, De'jana... Are you a Drakkari?" She asked, more bluntly than she would like, but there were precious few ways to do such things.

    The tan troll did not balk, instead running a hand along her gold and blue tabard which served as an over layer on a form fitting silken undershirt, the richly colored pants that did not go passed her knees completed the look, if one discounted the array of jewels and scrolls.

    "If you mean, am I a part of the Drakkari empire, then yes," The troll smiled ruefully, her long features making the expression quite wide to Lianne as the troll continued. "But am I to assume you ask of my parentage?"

    Lianne nodded, "You do not resemble your kindred, it raised questions in me as to the nature of this empire."

    "Your empire now too, your grace," De'jana said, before wiggling her oddly round ears. "I am a child of two people's, my mother was a guardian who lived in Drak'Tharon Keep, which my father travelled to with some Rageclaw traders, hoping to study our ways in alchemy and herbology."

    That... Was not the answer Lianne had expected, the heritage certainly, but even if what De'jana said was a lie, which Lianne could not discount, it seemed such an odd lie to choose.

    The half troll chuckled, "They were quite the odd couple, but very good together, or so I feel. I spent my childhood between the great keep and visiting my fathers village of Silverbrook."

    "I see," Lianne said slowly, as they turned a corner and she weakly waved to some passing children. "Then, you were chosen for this task for that reason?"

    De'jana's ears drooped for a moment before perking up, "I believe so your grace, but I assure you of my competence in any task that you require. I would not have been honored with a place on this expedition were I incapable."

    'That is far from my first concern,' Lianne thought, even as she nodded.

    They continued their travel through the capital, trolls and their servant races watching from roof tops with dull stares as her mind fell into awhirl. What was the troll king trying to convey with such a servant, her stomach turning as her mind drifted, 'Calia!'

    "Your grace," De'jana intoned in that strange accent, like a sibilant purr, "I believe it is time to return to the palace, the cold does not appear to agree with your presence."

    "Yes, I wish to see my children again," Lianne said lowly, but firmly.

    "Of course your grace," De'jana bowed as the carriage began to turn around a fountain.

    Dagren the Orcslayer was not a man given to caloric temper, in fact he would argue his moods were always appropriate to the situation and that even if it were warranted he was not given to rage.

    'But this fool is driving me to my wits end!' He stormed through the halls of Fenris Keep and burst his way into the main hall of the central Barracks.

    "Just what do you think you are doing, Alaric!?" he roared, silver hair falling over his eyes as his marched shook the floorboards.

    The balding man looked to stammer, before steadying himself, gripping his swords handle tight and standing firm in dark armor, accentuating his bulky frame.

    "I- I will not allow you to speak to me as such, Lord Paladin! You owe us a debt-"

    "Your gardener and chaplain pulled me from the river and offered me succor, not you, nor would I care if you had breathed life into me with your own lips!" Snarled the Paladins, expertly projecting his presence than even the taller, older man felt small, "What possessed you to cancel the fortifications!? Why did you you not call for reinforcements as I told you!?"

    Swallowing, Alaric answered, "I, I cannot act against my Lord. I sent word to Lord Ravenclaw and a ferry to his majesty, King Greymane-"

    "Are you so deluded as to think Greymane will send us aid?" Dagren seethed, "Let alone swiftly enough? This keep must be held until the Alliance reinforces it!"

    "My lord is in negotiations with the Dalaran to do just that now, but, but," He gulped out. "Until then I remain in command of his keep and his orders were not to let some Tirasi have run of the place!"

    Before Dagren could simply render him unconscious and get the servants and guards back to work, a watcher stationed on the walls loosed a signal horn.

    The color drained from Alaric's face and Dagren ignored him, snatching up a telescope he raced out of the chamber and to the highest point atop the Barrack's towers and looked due West.

    "W- What do you see, Lord Paladin?" Alaric asked quietly.

    "Death," he grunted, as a mottled skinned turtle as large as any ship tore from the waters, ripping through the gun ships he'd set out to secure the waters like it was paper. A green troll riding its back waving a staff in wicked glee.

    "D- Death!?" Gasped Alaric.

    "Yes," Dagren said, turning and tossing the spy glass back at the man and ignoring his fumbling, the paladin set off calling back, "I leave the keep in your command."

    "M- Me but what of, what of me and the people!?" He called desperately.

    It pained him, but Dagren was a practical man, 'I will not win this war by martyring myself here, not like this,' he thought.

    But if the Light favored him, he may well find the priest and gardener before the second wave of the Drakkari's attack began and be able to carry them away on Gryphon back.

    Light willing he could do that much.

    Lianne watched the door to Arthas's bed chambers wearily, Calia pressed against her side, her daughter whispered, "It will all turn out well, will it not mother?"

    Hugging her daughter close, Lianne kissed Calia's golden curls, "Of course it will my dear, mother shall see to everything," She leaned back and cradled Calia's cheeks. "I promise, so long as I draw breath, you will be protected."

    She looked to the book shelf and added, "Go dear girl, find something to read, a hymn perhaps, I shall join you again for dinner."

    "Yes mother," Calia whispered obediently sliding away and making her way to the book shelf where the Exegesis of the Light rested.

    Letting out a low sigh, Lianne strode into the halls, and cautiously, optimistically, she raised a hand for De'jana and her guards to wait and they did so, even moving back a few steps.

    Striding up to the oaken doors, lined with ornate, gold dusted art of vines and heraldry, Lianne pressed her hand to the door.

    "Arthas?"

    There was an angry thump but nothing more, repressing a sigh, Lianne murmured, "Understand my son, that all I am doing, I do for you, your sister and this kingdom."

    She waited, hoping for a response, but sullen silence was all that greeted her.

    Refusing to let her sadness show, she turned to her escort, hands clasped before her and marched towards them, the very picture of queenly elegance and dignity.

    "Well, let us not keep Frost King Malakk waiting."

    The ceremony had been a small thing, for such a terrible and momentous one.

    Nobles and captured captains brought to bear witness to the shame of Lianne Menethil, so that all would know in the days to come, what she had done.

    It seemed the ink had not even dried on her declaration of surrender as queen reagent before Lianne found herself in another storm of activity. Placed before wealthy merchants, visiting nobles who had been trapped by the invasion and most gut wrenching of all, the Archbishop himself.

    None dared raise a voice though their anger was palpable, while others seemed to almost… deflate. Only the archbishop had kind words for her, but she could not accept them in her heart.

    They all may have already surrendered themselves, but royalty was to be held to a higher standard, no matter the cost.

    But with her children's lives in the balance, the fate of the royal lineage and with it, the crown… What choice did she have but to nod and offer assurances as she weakly smiled, promising fair treatment and tolerance from the Drakkari even though she did not believe it herself.

    Their judgement did not matter though.

    The brave people of Lordaeron would fight well, even after hearing word of her surrender and so long as her children survived the royal line and with them, Lordaeron, would have a future.

    She might be damned as a collaborator, but her children and the kingdom would survive this, united and unscathed as she could possibly assure.

    It was not as though any humans would be mad enough to work with troll invaders after all.
    _____________________________________________
    NOTES:
    Hi, thanks for reading, I hope it was fun!

    As per usual, my basis for the characters was built on what I could infer front heir characters, hence Alaric being a nervous fool easily led by Thule who himself has more desire for power than he does sense. Lianne we know little of, but I worked with what I could and Dagren's pragmatism is again rooted in the fact he kept escaping failed missions in WC3, lol. Also as promised the Alliance is indeed getting wise to how to counter the Drakkari and no longer presuming victory before the battle begins. Thanks to Pillowsperky for their feedback on that section too.

    I may end up taking a week long break from updating due to needing to rewrite and re-organize more than I expected, and also some real life stuff that's proving heavy, though please don't let that limit potential discourse and I shall be answering questions regardless!
     
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    • The Winter War: Part 2 - A War on Many Fronts
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    • The Winter War: Part 2 - A War on Many Fronts ​

    Snowflakes drifted down on a gentle breeze, casting the marching army in a chill that offered some relief to the Drakkari legionaries, even as it made Orcs grumble.

    For his part, Nazgrel did not like the cold, winters had always been the worst in the camps, too little food, no warmth, soggy beds or floors and much sickness. From the corner of his eyes, he caught youthful orc recruit catching snowflakes on their tongue and chuckling among their fellow youths.

    'Well…' he thought, looking out across the vast planes of shiny white and rolling hills, 'It is rather different outside the camps,' brushing his fingers along the thick leather cloak adorning his back.

    Seeing others beginning to turn their gazes, Nazgrel quickly returned his attention to the front and the strange reptile he was expected to ride. Covered in a blend of blue scales, feathers, and pointy horns. It was a hulking creature to his mind, yet they were less than ponies to most Drakkari.

    A resounding thud struck his ears and Nazgrel looked to his commander… No, his chieftain atop a war Rhino. Grinning proudly from his elaborate, almost throne like seat, and gazing out across the lands, map in his lap and weapons on the chairs back.

    "The internment camp is not far!" Xex'Mon shouted, "Ready to add more numbers to the legions of Zul'Drak!?"

    Nazgrel raised his axe high and chanted in time with the others, "Lok-tar Zul'Drak! Lok-tar!"

    Even as their march picked up speed, Nazgrel could not keep from glancing at Xex'Mon.

    The white-haired troll was the one to assure him before the battle at the capital. He was a warrior and already proven leader who had volunteered to lead the Orcs as members of the Drakkari Legions. Despite roughhousing getting out of hand and belligerent rumblings he never struck or mistreated them.

    He had been a commander and now a chieftain, in charge of not just one legion of orcs but two, as well as three Drakkari Legions. Yet he seemed cut from a different cloth than the orc chiefs his mother had spoken harshly off.

    In the wake of their victory and his ascension Xex'Mon had, for some reason, seen fit to promote Nazgrel and another orc born of the camps, Burx, to command their fellow orcs in their own legions, though be it under his guidance. They together were all charged with the same cause. Casting down the Internment Camps and recruiting the Orcs within.

    Why pick Nazgrel?

    Why pick orcs when it was the Drakkari empire?

    Why pick young warriors in place of venerable orc chiefs?

    He could not say he had an answer to these questions yet, but-

    "Chieftain, we must hurry, there is blood on the wind, wailing in the air!" A high-ranking Shaman bellowed.

    'No.'

    Xex'Mon roared, "Legions, forward at full speed!"

    No one needed to hear it twice, the ground began to tremble as the stamping feet of their people echoed across the planes.

    Tearing across the planes and over raised knolls, they surged towards the distant and all too quiet camp.

    Barriers and shields were raised but no flag greeted them, neither spell nor cannon fire, just… silence.

    The stone walls, cloaked in a thin layer of snow lay un-defended, the gates hung open and what awaited chilled the bone far worse than any frost.

    It was a massacre, orc bodies lay strewn throughout the courtyard, they hung limply over the ruins of surviving buildings, while the burnt remnants of houses lay fallow with charred corpses.

    Nazgrel flung himself from his mount only to stagger through the camp as if in a daze. Behind him he could hear distant wailing from his kin as Xex'Mon barked orders, find survivors or the recently dead. Who could survive this? What could the dead offer except more pain?

    Nazgrel fell to his knees next to a dead whelp, their eyes empty and a hole in their bare chest, but in their hand… In their hand and clutched so tightly was a broken spear head, held like a dagger and tipped with blood.

    "Stop yowling!" Burx shrieked, stamping his feet, "This was a massacre! These monsters killed them all! You shouldn't be crying! You should be raging and roaring! They didn't get to die like Orcs, they were slaughtered like pigs!" Tears were streaming down his eyes and Burx madly struck a wall, cracking the stone but his words, his words stung and did little to assuage or inspire as more Orcs fell into the sleet and mud.

    "They didn't!" Nazgrel's roar surprised even himself, but the words were spilling out as If torn from his mind as he held the fallen child in his arms and faced his brethren.

    "They didn't get slaughtered, they fought, look around! The humans tried to wipe them out, but they fought, with claws and stone and steel!" His chest heaved, his face ached, heart thumping in his ears. "Humans died too, honor less cowards tried for a massacre, but our kin fought, and they killed and died with honor!" He held the child's body high, "They died as Orcs, brave and true and fierce!"

    All eyes were upon him and Nazgrel hugged the child to his chest, "The humans did not fight fair, but our people fought all the same, we will honor them. We will find the humans that did this and gut them to the last, we will honor our fallen brethren, as Orcs, as warriors to the last!"

    He threw back his head and bellowed a roar, his throat writhing in agony as the rage and despair was cast from him and into the sky, echoing he hoped to the ancestors. Burx was the next to join him, and soon more and more voice joined the chorus of cries, so loud they made the ground quale and the air shake with their fury.

    As their pique fell, Nazgrel saw those who had been falling into despair were on their feet, eyes blazing and ready to fight, to avenge.

    A hand clapped against his back, it was Xex'Mon who proclaimed, "Truer words have hardly been spoken, Commander Nagrel and know we shall not let this happen again. Warriors, fan out and ready the dead, they shall be granted an honorable pyre, and then we ride, no other camp shall fall like this, not a one!"

    Hoots and roars echoed as they began gathering the dead, Nazgrel first among them and placing the fallen whelp's body among recently felled trees.

    As he returned to the camp at Xex'Mon's side, a shout to draw them all from their gruesome work.

    "We found survivors!" Shrieked a troll.

    Breaking into a run, Nazgrel found himself staring down at an aging Orc in filthy black robes, with a strong jaw and small tusks being pulled away from a sewer grate with broken and bent pipes.

    "Whelps… Inside…" he groaned as the priests and shamans began chanting prayers and spells over his withered frame.

    Throwing himself to the ground Nazgrel ignored the familiar stench of refuse and through the haze of darkness saw a small gaggle of younglings and babes huddled together shaking, terrified but alive!

    "Come here little ones, we're here to save you," He whispered, holding out a hand which was tentatively taken by the eldest of the group before she passed the babe she was holding into his grasp.

    Sliding out of the sewer he stepped back and let one of his brothers take the next one as he passed the sickly infant to a troll priest who cradled them gently to his barrel chest and whispered, "Just in time."

    Turning back, Nazgrel and his kin were quick to liberate ever shivering child and babes from the sewage and ensure they each found their way to a healer and warm blankets.

    With the task done, he moved to Xex'Mon side who was watching over the old orc whose presence had helped obscure the children, now breathing easily, but still looking drawn, tired, and oddly grey.

    "You saved the young ones," Xex'Mon murmured, "We got them out and they will all survive."

    The orc grinned, "Thank the ancestors."

    The priest tending to him was scowling, "He stinks of death and rot this one, how'd you survive a spear through the chest?"

    The survivor chuckled, "A Necrolyte doesn't let a little thing like flesh wound stop them…"

    "My mother told me your kind were wiped out," Nagrel said, kneeling at the Orcs side.

    "Most, but not all, I was among those who came from Draenor on Ner'zhul's mad quest," He let out a bitter chuckle, "I was left behind and cast into this wretched place."

    "Who ordered your deaths, and did you see where they went?" Xex'mon asked.

    The Necrolyte shook his head, "Those of us seen as too feeble to put up a fight scurried and scarped around to save who we could in secret, and I've been... Drifting between the waking world and sleep since I was struck. The least I was able to do was cover the gap we made in the sewer grates to let the whelps through… The spirits will tell you where they went, but I can tell you who," he hissed.

    They all leaned in.

    "Her name was Lorin_Remka, she kept an orc woman as her personal slave and painted her face in the woman's blood before announcing we were all to die," he snarled.

    Taking the orcs hand Nazgrel promised, "We will find her, wherever she runs, and kill everyone who sides with her, and free our people, I swear it."

    Squeezing back as firmly as they could the Necrolyte smiled, "You will have me at your ide when you do, warrior, I swear it."

    Nazgrel accepted the offer with a murmured "Lok'tar," before Xex'mon motioned for him to rise.

    "Ensure he recovers," the commander ordered, "We will send the young one's back to the capital with escorts and begin our march anew once the pyre dies down, come, we need to get the legions in order."

    Nazgrel saluted, fist thumping against his chest, "Aye, chieftain."

    Alexi sat comfortably within his study, burning coals pulsing as heat wafted across the stone chamber. Imported gaslights gently illuminating the artworks and shelves of records and scrolls. Illucia leaned over her husband's shoulder as he looked upon a crisply written letter, marked by royal gold embroilment and touched with a new silver trim.

    To the most wise and esteemed Barov family,

    I Frost King Malakk, arbiter of Justice, Conqueror of Storms and King of kings, do bid you warm greetings. This one does hope that this communication and the customary gift made their way to your hands with due haste.

    The letter and gift had indeed arrived with all due haste, not even half a week had passed before their expression of tentative interest had netted them not only the letter. But a richly adorned chest of gold lining, hewn from elven limber and embroiled with ancient enchantments that hummed with a silver, alien divinity.

    And within it?

    Queen Lianne's declaration of surrender, as well as a collection of jewelry, foreign and familiar, strange spices and wine. Each with a lovingly attached note detailing their name, origin and history stretching across the whole of Northrend.

    It was far more cultured than one would expect of a troll, generous as well as novel to be sure.

    The Queen Mothers surrender is a welcome thing to those of us who wish a smooth and peaceful transition of power. But I am not so naïve as to think others among your kin will be as accommodating as she, nor wise as yourselves.

    Thus, know that when you come to treat with me, it shall not be as sworn vassals, but as independent leaders in your own right. Leaders, whose knowledge and familiar touch among the common folk will become ever more necessary as the Drakkari empire secures its new Dominions.

    "Quite confident, isn't he," Alexi said with a thoughtful hum.

    Illucia chuckled, "I do admire that in a man, and a leader, do you not?"

    "In moderation," Alexi chuckled, eye glancing off the golden chest.

    Know that my empire plays host to Great Families and appointed bureaucrats, honored priests, and wise overseers. All of whom rule over their own territories in the name of the empire. Enclosed with this missive is a scroll that outlines the duties of those who oversee Drakkari Dominions.

    However, I am not unreasonable, and know that different species and cultures within my empire will require their own unique considerations. Thus your own role as a Great Family of a Dominion and your respective duties and privileges must be discussed to best address you and you're the people's needs.

    Alexi hummed, tapping against that paragraph as he read it over, "That does beg the question. How large is this empire?"

    Illuca nodded, "Northrend is not a large place, but then, neither is Dalaran."

    "A fair point," Alexi nodded, "Though my mind comes to his alleged considerations; I think I recall some reference to creatures called Wolvar?"

    "A client race perhaps?" Illucia suggest.

    "One permitted to manage themselves as members of the Drakkari," Alexi said, mind whirling at the possibilities.

    "Northrend is quite far away," Illucia chuckled, her mind on the same road as his own before they turned back to the letter again.

    Among the items sent to you as gifts is a richly engraved gemstone of arcane energy, passive for now, unless suffused with a new spark to alight its power. Engraved into its form are runes and stored mana that will allow your or a mage of your choosing to establish direct contact with the palace, that we might speak in person.

    Know that should you step into my palace, you shall hold the full rights of guests and honored leader. No harm shall come to you, nor shall you be forbidden from leaving at your pleasure. There can be little room for diplomacy without trust and mutual respect after all.

    Signed, Frost King Malakk, ruler of the Drakkari Empire.

    Dropping the parchment down, Alexi trailed his fingers along the gold and silver trim.

    "He writes well, don't you think?" Illucia mused, as she toyed with the enchanted crystal.

    "He does, and the duties of 'Great Families' are familiar, though," Alexi stroked his beard, "I an concerned about the minimal mention of tax."

    "Do you think that is a matter for their king, rather than we nobles?" Illucia said, gaze sharpening.

    "Perhaps," he clasped his hands, "It may also be that he leaves such matters to his subjects, or simply not bear mentioning. Especially if their coinage and calculations would present a problem... Assuming, they have coins."

    "I have seen troll tokens like coins among collectors' libraries," Illucia said, rolling her eyes, "A now dead Arch Magus could talk one's ears off about them."

    Alexi nodded, "Most likely a matter of calculations then, or something we can press him on, should we agree to the meeting."

    "It is still a risk, but, ah," Illucia cooed as she clasped the crystal in her hands. "What a lovely trinket, no wonder they can bar Dalaran from the capital."

    Leaning back in his chair, Alexia said, "You think to trust him then?"

    "I think so," She purred, "Yes. One could see this crystal as a sign of carelessness, but I think not. We cannot use it against them, but they have not tried to use it against us. He seems to hold to his word, this far at least."

    "Nothing ventured nothing gained then; we will have to tell the boys, of course," Alexi sighed, as his gaze flew towards the door. "They're hardly boys anymore, Alexia and Weldon are men who could cause trouble amongst the rabble if they so wished."

    "Fret not my husband, we can weather a temper tantrum, if they are not yet ready to put our family first." Magic danced on the tip of her fingers, and Alexia knew she could bespell their sons into slumber easily enough, with the right… Catalyst.

    "I'll pour them a drink then," he said, rising to his feet as his wife made for the door.

    'This is the right decision,' he said, pulling down a familiar bottle of wine, 'If we play our cards right, the Barov family may yet rule Lordaeron!'

    Silverpine had never been a popular port.

    So much of the region, even its coast was mountainous and where it was not, the coast was so deep able swimmers could drown in its black depths. And with Lordemare Lake making land trade along the West unnecessary, no one ever paid the primeval place much mind.

    Which, Hooktusk would note, was not the same as ignoring it entirely.

    The coastal watch posts she'd destroyed showed that much. As did the humble dock beneath the misty Silverlain woods. A small forest barely North of Pyrewood and beneath the looming keep of the southlands be-loathed baron.

    Thatched rooves of lifeless green and dull browns had greeted she and her soldiers as they stepped from the great turtles while Malakk's Might loomed large in the distance. A great siege tower resting atop the deck ensuring that even Silverlain's Keep would not be be out of reach if so needed.

    Hooktusk found herself leaning against one of the the crude constructions, looking out over the docks, a fish bone between her fingers as she picked her fangs. It was not much to look at, the failed bid to mimic the steep-gabled Gilnean style only enhancing the places feeble look. Drakkari sailors loomed so large over some of the houses they could use roof's as arm rests, while Shamans and Priests invoked protection spells in case of cannon fire.

    Finally a broad, barrel chested troll with bright eyes, his hair was done in black and white braids, and he wore layered armors of enchanted leathers and steel.

    "My Sacred Warrior returns," She chuckled, waggling pink eyebrows at the troll, "Done checking for ambushes?"

    Ruk'zeb did little to hide the grimace from his squared jaw and bowed, "This one concedes the point, to our most honored Navarch, and Prophet of mighty Gral. There was indeed, no ambush laying in wait."

    Tossing her tooth pick to the ground, Hooktusk stood to her full, unimpressive to Drakkari, height and cracked her neck.

    "Of course there ain't, we barely gave-em word we were coming and Silverpine's a benighted shit hole. You could barely pay me to raid it on a good day."

    As she clicked her fingers, calling over her feathered and scaled raptor, Ruk'zeb watched her with that same quietly stern air she found so vexing.

    "It is a surprise then this land is so worth fighting over."

    "Ah I never get tired of your veiled critique," She joked, slinging a leg over the blue beast and grasping the reins.

    Ruk'zeb bowed, "The Temple of Har'koa has staked much of its reputation on sponsoring you to his majesty."

    "Yes, yes," She waved. "& the Bloody Leopard Paw are merely here to fulfill their duties as assigned by the Prophet and Frost King Malakk to see I win and not disgrace you by association. I am aware."

    Ruk'zeb subtly toyed with his leopard skin cloak, but before he could continue she began guiding Tial-tal out of the village.

    "Look here, the lands worth fighting for cos the Shadowglen are worth fighting for and Malakk wants his new Dominions. Pussyfooting won't win fights and I'm sure a people with actual priests and Shamans can do more with this place than human hands and whatever Harvest-witches survived the purges. So I am sure in a few years it will all be very nice and productive for the empire, with grains and wheat or whatever it is they grow."

    The taller Drakkari needn't a mount to keep pace with her and she noticed he set himself between her and the keep as their company marched.

    "You know this land better than I, that is a concession I make humbly," he said without inflection. "Though tell me, if you would, why you do not fear the canon fire?"

    Hooktusk snorted, "He could fire, he surely could, but Silverlaine never needed fear his keeps safety from the ocean. Angry peasants and invaders by land were the order of the day. We'll be in more danger the closer we get to town," she added motioning lazily at the little used dirt path, mired in snow and frost.

    "I shall array the Bloody Leopard Paw and your crew accordingly then?" He asked in a way that was not really asking.

    "If you like, just remember, we want his focus on us, and what comes next," She chuckled, as the distant town of Pyrewood began fading into view through the haze. Dilapidated walls of bound tree trunks jutting out of the earth and roofs of watery wood and decayed hay just barely visible.

    "Be quick now," She chuckled, egging her mount forward.

    Their journey to the town was swift as could be and the sight that greeted them pitiable a could be.

    A massed force of militia men and rounded up women with little if any armor. Gaunt and terrified faces greeted them outside the gates, with a few archer and on the slim walkways of the walls.

    Few had better than farming equipment in the form of clubs and the occasional spear. The local lords never liking the thought of armed peasantry.

    'They know we'd overwhelm it too quickly, better to face us out here and be pushed back than have fighting take place in the town from the start,' Hooktusk mused.

    "There is no honor to be found here," Murmured Ruk'zeb, scandalized.

    "Nor much money, fortunately, we aren't here for them," She said, waving for a halt to her forces march and leading her mount on a light trot forward.

    Metal glinted against the moonlight, but none made to attack as she paraded before them, Ruk'zeb watching the keep above with wary anticipation.

    Hooktusk ignored him, instead, throwing her arms wide and her voice high.

    "Where is the Baron Silverlaine in your hour of need?! Where can I find the warriors of Commander Springvale whom should protect you?! Why does a motley mass of men and women stand before me, waiting to die, when you could lay down your arms and live?!"

    Spirits of wind and air carried whispered words in hissed tones to her from behind the walls.

    "Fire. Fire you fools!" Snarled one.

    "She offers to leave us be, you will get us killed!" Hissed another.

    "You do not command this town," Snapped a third, as the bickering persisted.

    Finally, one of the shaking archers loosed an arrow, Bloody Leopard Paw braced and began to roar but a sharp slash of her dagger ended to the arrows passage as se barked, "Hold!"

    Ruk'zeb moved to her side, as she flung herself off the raptor and called again.

    "I ask who hides behind walls and sends the people of Pyrewood to fight and die for a bastard baron?! If you wish me dead, whisperers, then step to us and fight or stand down, before your foolishness dooms your people! For we wish only to pass you by to slay Silverlain!"

    More hissing and angry whispers, fear and confusion roiled off the crowd like smoke off a fire. Finally, a sharp voice, with a strange twang called out from behind the walls, carried aloft on cracking with that sang with authority not known to men.

    "Stand down, sons and daughters of the silver forests! Stand down and not die for a man who would see you die for his convenience! Stand down and live!"

    'Ah, Krag'jin's Seraphaine then?'

    Hooktusk could hear shouting and squabbling, and ignoring Ruk'zeb's concern she strode forward, offering her hand to the forward most townsfolk. A broad man, with a thick beard and greying hairs, who slowly, slowly began pulling his pitchfork back.

    "May- Maybe we let-em pass? Don't want any trouble here, do we?"

    "Lord Silvarlain will kill us!"

    "And they won't? Look-at-em, they're huge!"

    "Follow our orders, fool!"

    "They are trolls!"

    "They seek only to pass, why throw our lives away!?"

    "Someone, kill the witch!"

    The townsfolk uncertainty was growing and finally something broke the growing din.

    Cannon fire from the hillside.

    Hooktusk threw herself back and roared, "Move!"

    The humans ears were weaker, but they heard her command before the ringing shot and echoing whistle sang.

    A steel ball crashed near where she'd been standing, the blast sending peasants to the ground, a spray of blood and screeching.

    Echoing whistles along the sky heralded the coming of more shots and she bellowed her word, "Stop those cannon balls!"

    In one sharp motion she snatched up her side arm cannon and with a sharp hiss and a click she shot another oncoming ball from the sky, scattering shrapnel harmlessly to the wind.

    Shamans and Priests made their cries, lightning and magic tearing the orbs from the sky.

    Chaos overtook the militia, some fleeing back into town others into the woods, y choice or by being shoved away in the chaos.

    Another cannon ball was sailing down and Ruk'zeb leapt between some peasants and the missile. A barrier of silver and black glowing as bright as any Paladins barrier springing up and blocking the blast.

    The villagers were moving like water from a barrel now, surging back through the gates. Most of the cannon fire sailing towards her forces, but some unable to reach and landing on the town itself.

    Striding up to the gate of the miserable hamlet, Hooktusk was surprised to see many of the would be warrior huddling around a woman with a dark, wild mane. Tall and bedecked in leathers of dyed whites and earthy browns.

    She stood before a large, squat building in which huddled children, sporting several wounds, clearly inflicted to try and silence her. Yet still she chanted, an ornate totem of unrecognizable design held aloft in her glowing green hands. A powerful, writhing wind rebounded cannon fire.

    "Hold fast, children of the harvest, salvation is at hand!" Called the Harvest Witch, her voice tinged with a chorus of swirling winds and a thousand wing beats.

    'You better move quick, Krag'jin!'

    The sound of cannon fire had never been so satisfying.

    Krag'jin pulled down his spyglass and roared, "He has taken the bait, remember, we strike swift as lightning!"

    A chorus of affirmatives rang out as the Shaman's, fifteen in total, finished their ritual. Grand dances, conducted in the formation of an arrows head, concentrating the flow of power through motion and position.

    They slit their palms as one and slapped them against the earth.

    A violent rumble turned into a roar as the ground before them kicked up dust and debris before surged down the mountainsides and beneath the white walls of Silverlain Keep.

    The walls, reinforced by alchemy and runic script could withstand a wave of cannon fire.

    They could not withstand the ground beneath the, turning to sludge, swallowing stone towers and fortifications while spitting stones at the unfortunate soldiers left to guard the North wall.

    Mage retainers lost their footing and the barriers over the courtyard dimmed. Krag'Jin could hear his troops roaring as they raced down the mountain, while he bellowed, "FIRE!"

    A chorus of stolen canons loosed their steel upon the fraying defenses, steel crashing against stained mana and breaking it apart. The towers and windows within were unable to withstand the assault and walls were caved in, soldiers split apart by the force.

    The dark armored troll smirked as he saw his warrior and priests surged through the gaping wound in the defenses. Guards and warriors, ill prepared for such a sudden, racing out to face them only to be swarmed, the sheer number of trolls and spirt beasts too much to bare.

    Drawing his twin axes, Krag'jin smiled, "Well, time to join the fun I think!" and he took off running down the hill with the second wave.

    Commander Springvale had never been described as a kind man, stern and dutiful, he had little time for dalliances like mercy or chivalry.

    "But this goes beyond the pale milord," He hissed to his master, from their perch near the Southern walls, in a fortified tower that overlooked the forests and Pyrewood.

    Silverlain did not even turn his attention to his loyal retained, merely adjusting his enchanted monocle and bushing imaginary dust from his dark suit.

    "Fire!" he bellowed, with soldiers and servants hastening to obey.

    "Most do not even understand they fire on Pyrewood," Hissed Springvale.

    "As they well should not," Answered the elderly baron, stroking his beard, "Have you grown soft on me, commander? You never dread to shed peasant blood before now."

    "Executions and raids to keep them in line is one thing, this will be a slaughter," Whispered Springvale.

    "The town was always doomed, but they could have at least dispersed the trolls and weakened their magics enough for our cannons to shred them. Now I am forced to rely solely on shock," he chuckled, "But it seems to be working, they scatter like rats."

    Springvale grit his teeth as another round of cannon fire was rained down across the misty lowlands.

    "The people will die, all of them," he murmured, steel gloves quaking even as his voice remained quiet.

    "Save the council, I may need you to slay them if they stand to reveal our little scheme," idled Silverlain, "Fire!"

    The old man turned to him fully, "Fret not. replacing the rabble is no different than replacing livestock, an with this victory under our belts, I am sure Greymane shall be most generous."

    Repressing a sigh, he salute, "Yes milord, will you have the knights ride-" The earth began to quake and shake and scream.

    No that was mean screaming, from the Northern walls and courtyard.

    "Trolls!"

    "The wall!"

    "The wall has fallen!"

    Spingvale stilled, before gnashing his teeth, "The attack on the village was a ruse to focus our cannon fire!"

    Silverlain slapped his pauldron, "Play at general later, escort me to the griffonry!"

    They took off running, as confusion started to fill the ranks, Sprinvale's voice rising over the din as he ran.

    "Fall back into the towers! Turn the doorways into choke point! Bowman, take to the towers and aim the cannons at the courtyard!"

    Trolls began swarming into the courtyard, axes and staves at the ready as glowing beasts absorbed the first wave of arrows and spear.

    'I did not know so many lived in this land, madness!'

    Yet, their path to the stables was no barred by any warrior, instead it was a mangled corpse of a man, riddled with claw and beak marks, being feasted on by the while and gold griffon.

    "What.. What is this!?" Shuddered Silverlain, "Beatrice?" He whispered, only for the beast to shriek, its eyes, shining.

    "The beasts, troll witches be-spelled them!" Springvale realized, dragging his master back from the beast, "Come, we must escape through the tunnels-" The ground began to quake again and his spirit sunk.

    The sounds of battle grew distant as an approaching footman found his leg snatched up by a giant trolls hand. He was ripped from the walk way and smashed against the wall, blood and steel flying free as the darkly armored warrior came to stand on the other side of the stone walk way.

    Dropping his quarry, the pale green redhead drew twin axes and intoned, "Baron Silverlain, heir to generations of wealth and blood debts." He cracked his neck, "Til'Vass has been awaiting this for ten generations."

    "You'll not find easy prey here, troll!" Springvale drew his sword and surged forward, shield deflecting a thrown spear as he approached the troll.

    His sword strike was met with a sharply withdrawn axe, the force of it dragging him forward.

    Springvale flung himself back and saw sparks fly as he blocked an axe strike, only for the troll to lean out of the way of his thrust.

    A blurred leg surged forward and steel slammed against his chest as the troll kneed him in the gut.

    Air escaping from his lungs, Springvale brought his shield up to block the head strike and snarled as the blow pierced metal and cut into his arm.

    He tried to bring up his sword to block the next swing, but instinct force him to swipe an oncoming spear from the air.

    Leaving his skull open for the single, deadly blow.

    Light faded, no pain filled him as the last sounds he heard were-

    "He died well, I cannot expect the same from you though, can I?"

    Then, he knew nothing.

    The tone of the town had turned to Hooktusks's side.

    Or more, it had turned against her enemies which was good enough.

    With the keep fallen, she'd ordered a quick retreat and most of her forces agreed. Ruk'zeb and a few lingered to heal a few peasants before falling back.

    The Sacred Warrior hovered at her side as she waited by the gate, "I want to watch the show," she had intoned cheekily. Thus, her bodyguard remained at her side.

    'Not that I'll likely need him,' she mused, eyeing the pillars of smoke in the distance, before turning her attention back to the show.

    The Pyrewood Council and a small host, much smaller now that so many had run or jumped ship, stood before the town hall.

    Around them stood a growing mob of militia men and murderous women, at the forefront stood Seraphaine. The wounds she'd received still clear on her sharp, raven-like features, as she had healed even those who harmed her first and foremost.

    "You cannot fault us for this, it was not we who sought to commit treason by joining hands with trolls!" argued Lord Mayor Morrison.

    "You defend yourself!?" Roared a citizen.

    "You defend the bastard SIlverlain!?" Screeched another.

    Seraphaine's voice was stronger than all, "He launched cannons upon his own people, yet you fault the victims!?"

    Another robed councilor spoke up, his voice high and keening, "How were we to know such a thing could happen!? We are as much victims as you!"

    "Another councilor leapt to the forefront, "But we did not invite the enemy to our doorstep, this witch did!"

    Seraphaine's contemptuous snort was as clear as the disdain on her pale features.

    "I have not the power to invite anyone into our homes, only Silverlain and you councilors can do that," She motioned to the councils few remaining bodyguards. "But if you claim innocence, tell us why so many of the council sought safety in a locked basement before the battle began? Tell us why, when the cannon balls flew, you and Silverlain's soldiers knew to run. No terror, only concern for yourselves!"

    "You claim we knew he would take such a risk, how dare you, witch!" Morrison bellowed.

    "A risk? You speak as if this is unexpected? Fools, SIlverlain's hand was not forced, this was always the plan, to let Pyrewood bleed the enemy and to make this town a choke point! Our lives thrown away for his mad scheme!"

    "Lies!" Bellowed councilors, even as the citizens continued to roar, "Murderers, traitors!"

    "We are not the traitors here, you-"

    A man, of young years and a sickly pallor, with dark, thin hair, cropped short threw down his hammer and wailed.

    "Oh it is true! We knew! We knew all along!"

    Morrison balked, "Landen Stilwell! You will-"

    But the man was already scraping forward along the dirt-ridden street, grasping at the Harvest Witches dress.

    "We knew his plan but I thought it only a last resort, when all was lost, I did not mean any harm fair lady, I am but a humble smith, I wish only to make things, not harm or betray!" He threw himself to the floor, "Forgive me please, for striking you, for my cowardice! I beg you all mercy!"

    Seraphaine kneeled down and clapped the man on the shoulders, "Rise, Landen, your words ring with truth and for that I thank you, we all thank you. For now we know who is truly at fault for the dead in our streets, not you, or the poor soldiers sent to die, but the lord Baron and his servile sycophant's. The Pyrewood Council!"

    Her words had grown and swelled and resounded with the fury of a storm, Hooktusk was no shaman but she could see they were not merely loud, but powerful, enticing, inspiring.

    Furious roars rang up from the citizens, militia men and women practically snarling and gnashing teeth.

    The councilors remaining guards broke, turning their blades on the councilors, who shirked and shrieked.

    "L- Lady of the Harvest! One wailed, We are of Pyrewood too! Spare us!"

    Seraphaine titlllted her head to the side, "I am no lord and master, I am, as you say, a woman of the harvest. I live to heal and offer my words to those who wish to heed them." Something wickedly cruel and beautiful was in her smile, as she said.

    "But if it is the will of the sons and daughters of Pyrewood to see justice done, then I shall not stand in their way. Instead I would aid them," She did not look back to the crowd, but leveled a single digit at the Lord Mayor and a violent burst of lightning lanced out in a crackling orb of blue tinged energy.

    His silver touched robes sizzled and melted at the strike lanced through his body and launched him to the ground with a screech and a thud.

    Then, as if a spell had been broken, the people roared and howled like beasts and descended on the councilors with a mad fervor. Blades and fists and ropes alike promised brutal ends to the agents of the baron, as Seraphaine's voice sang upon the wind, joined in a chorus by the people of Pyrewood.

    "Death to the lords!"

    "Death to the council!"

    "Long live the harvest!"

    Greymane Manor was suffused with a sort of ordered, quiet chaos.

    This had been the case ever since word reached the royal family that a Tirasi fleet had sailed around Gilneas, neither asking, nor waiting for permission. Since then more reports had come in, a young noble informing them Dalaran demanded use of his keep and vague reports of violence in the North.

    The natural conclusion was this was the pre-amble to an invasion, if not of Gilnease itself then of Silverpine, forcing Genn and his family into action. Orders were being drafted to double the size of their hosts, the fleet was to be marshalled and Lord_Hiram_Creed had not stopped nattering on about his vaunted cannons.

    The deliberation was interrupted however by a guard breaching the war hall and kneeling, "My liege, the Magus Arugal and Lord Ravenclaw has arrived to speak with you."

    "Send them in," Genn intoned, looking up from the map of his nation he leaned above.

    The black robed magus swiftly strode in, glowing stave in one hand and an enchanted carrying case in the others. The younger Thule Ravenclaw was bedecked in dark reds and blacks, his long hair done in a loose ponytail and a look of forced neutrality onis clean shaven face.

    The each offered offered a polite and formal bow, before Arugal took the lead "It is an honor to be welcomed home by you my liege."

    "I am glad to see your loyalty to our kingdom remains steadfast, magus. Tell me, are Dalaran and Lordaeron going to be battering down out gates shortly?"

    Thukle looked nervous and the Archmage blinked owlishly for a moment before answering, "Ah, please forgive me your majesty, but I believe the situation is… More complicated than that."

    Hiram Creed practically growled, "You Dalaranese always try to make things complicated."

    "Still thy tongue, lord Creed," Genn snapped, before turning his gaze back to Arugal, "Now then, explain what is so complicated to me?"

    Passing an ornate and runic case to Thule, Arugal answered, his voice tight and strained as if the words were painful to him.

    "While Kul'Tiras and Dalaran most certainly marshal for war, it is not at Lordaeron's command, nor against you, my liege."

    "You expect me to believe Daelin and Antonidas are going to war without Teranas's oh so wise judgement?" Genn snapped.

    "King Teranas is dead, my liege."

    The room fell silent and Genn damn near drew back in shock, nails digging into the map table as he muttered, "How?"

    "Trolls my king, from the north. They claimed to be seeking to avenge some agent of theirs executed on the Alliance Councils orders and intend to take the entire continent as repayment." Arugal's tone was not light but strangely high, bemused as he was confused by the absurd circumstances they found themselves in as he continued.

    "They claimed the northern coasts and swarmed over the capital in less than a week, Dalaran could not breach their magical defenses to evacuate the royal family. The last word I heard was that the queen consort had surrendered herself to the troll's leader."

    "How could mere trolls accomplish such a feat!?" Liam gasped.

    Arugal shrugged, "I was shocked as well young prince, but these Drakkari seem to be cut from a different cloth than the usual beasts, at least in regard to their magic and weapons. They have even moved against the young lords keep to secure it against Dalaranese control."

    Thule hastily bowed, "Please forgive me, the Arch Mage and I thought it best to seek your wisdom on whether to rent my lands to them, but the trolls moved swiftly."

    Genn waved him off, "You are forgiven, the land is yours after all, but that loyalty does you both credit."

    Arugal looked pleased, even behind his layered robes before continuing. "If Tirasi forces are sailing around Gilnease it is likely to make war upon their fleet."

    Genn snorted, "We are still under threat, I was on that accursed council after all. Damn you Teranas, your foolishness may cost us."

    Creed leaned in, "My liege, these trolls must be slaughtered down to the last if Gilnease is to be secured." He snapped back however at Arugal's glare and Genn had little time for the man's dramatics at this moment regardless.

    Drawing himself up, Genn chuckled lightly, "Yes, the trolls will need to be put down, but there is no cause for us to march alongside our old rivals to see it done. Lost lands beyond our gates can be reclaimed in time and those nobles who have sacraficed t in my service shall be rewarded justly," he said, sending Thule a nod.

    Standing at his full height, Genn chuckled, "We shall let the beasts and fools slaughter each other from behind our great walls and move only when the time is right." His gaze snapped to Arugal's belongings. "I take it those are souvenirs from Dalaran?"

    Arugal bowed, "Yes my liege, I felt it necessary to follow our agreed upon protocol. First, when I got word of their intent upon every Alliance nation, and I was encouraged to move more swiftly when the young lord hinted at Dalaran's conviction to claim Fenris Keep, with or without permission. Thus, I have taken from the city many relics and ancient tomes of power."

    Genn smirked, "I imagine they will not be welcoming you back anytime soon then."

    Arugal looked saddened for a moment before shrugging, "I know where my loyalties lie my liege. I am also confident these artifacts will be of great use to Gilnease in the days to come."

    "I am certain they shall, 'Royal' Mage Arugal, and your apprentice I take it?"

    Arugal nodded and Thule beamed with pride.

    Stepping around the map, Genn motioned for them to follow, "Come, let us see to it your study and quarters are made ready. Liam, have word sent out to our armies and guards to be ready, but that we can abstain from moving to a war footing for now."

    "Are you sure that is wise father?" Tess called after him.

    "It is for the best, war always makes all but the most loyal nobles want to start collecting copper like it was gold and whining like stuck pigs. Better to give them as long as they need while our foes exhaust themselves."

    'And when the dust settles, Gilneas shall reign supreme over this land!'

    High King Greymane had a pleasant ring to it.
    ____________________________________________________
    NOTES:
    As the scope of the war expands, so to does the story, with this being one of the first chapters with none of what could be called the main cast. A secondary title for this could likely be a study in contrasts or humans behaving badly, but the latter feels like a title for something wholly different and in truth was rather accidental as a theme, but I assure you, all based on canon behaviors. Arugal being more loyal to Gilneas than Dalaran might be a surprise, but canonically he definitely didn't stick around.

    Ruk'Zeb's name was taken from the Travelogue and here he is a Sacred Warrior, basically the traditional Trollish Paladin equivalent, (as opposed to a counter as the Frozen Warlords were envisioned.) Though they'd not describe themselves as such and only some aspects of their roles overlap and they are not nearly so numerous, usually acting as Temple Guards and escorts over frontline warriors. I got inspired for the title speaking to Ganonso and also want to thank Pillowsperky for their helpful feedback.

    As always I'd love to hear your feedback and am happy to answer any questions you may have.
     
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