Interlude: Setting the Stage (The Invasion of Rohk'aka)
Interlude: Setting the Stage (The Invasion of Rohk'aka)
With wars end came days of mourning and celebration.
When those days passed by, with the dead given their due reverence and the living honored, life began to move on for the people of Zul'Drak.
New recruits were found and inducted into training; mines were built with new travel routes established and trade began again; even expanding, with once distant tribes like the Kamagua and Icemist seeking closer ties with those that threw down the dead.
With all that had come and gone it was almost easy to forget there was another war on the horizon. One that would not end with a single grand battle, even though many would wish it so. It was for that war that Quetz'Lith found herself alongside Gal'Darah, Barafu and a Nerubian Vizier within a ritual chamber in the Frostmane Compound.
The smooth cut and oddly domed chamber was spartan by necessity; dragons were difficult to corral at the best of times after all, she should know.
"Has it worked?" She groused, eyes locked on her mount, frozen within a fading block of ice, just like she'd found them.
"Uncertain, its mind is still sealed," Seer_Ixit said with a click.
Quetz'Lith's claws dug into her hands and Gal'Darah companionably clapped her on the back, "There's no reason it shouldn't-"
"It stirs!" Barafu cheered as her spell hastened and the ice began to shiver and crack before shattering into fading sparkles on the air.
A gout of flamed burst from her mount's maw and Quetz'Lith barely scooped Barafu up in time to keep her out of harm's way, snarling at the drake as it stumbled back snapping drunkenly.
"It works, splendid," Ixit murmured. "We will have to test this further and memorize the means."
A weak wave of magic radiated from Gal'darah snuffing out her mounts flames as Quetz'Lith placed Barafu down carefully, she was dainty even by Frost Troll standards, and moved to kneel before the angry beast.
"Come now," Quetz'Lith whispered, hand held out and a snack in her palm, "Nothing to fear, you just went away for a time, you are back now, I made sure of it."
She could sense their uncertainty through the bond, but these dragons were ruled by their bellies, and they had been through this before. Thus, it quickly trundled forward, and she flicked the meat into its snapping jaws, waiting until it swallowed before tenderly running her hand along their spines, making the bronze drake preen.
"We will need to test this again," Ixit cut in, making her hiss.
"Not," Barafu added hastily, "on your mount, merely to ensure it can work, if it does, well it could help your forces much."
A low click escaped Quetz'Lith's lips, and she nodded, "I am aware, but I'd not stress my mount further and I've other tasks to attend to."
"We can cycle in others, seeing how it works on the dragons I no longer worry for the effect it might have on my rhino's," Gal'Darah said, grinning.
"Yes, my hypothesis of the dragon's internals being necessary is less proven. Under the best circumstances it will be slower for creatures that cannot generate flames," Ixit said, as a scurrying assistance copied down notes.
"If so, then we can easily bring mounted warfare and aerial scouting to the south, without fear of being eaten out of house and home," the Grand Prophet chuckled.
"Frost King Malakk will be glad to hear it, I'll inform him," Quetz'Lith said, eager to leave the pair to their chatter.
"I shall escort you out," Barafu offered with a smile.
Bowing, Quetz'Lith tidied her mohawk and quickly followed after the tiny magus, her drake ambling behind her.
Malakk watched the collection of expert builders and crafters before him. All gathered in a comfortable social hall within his chambers in Gundrak, food, drink and amusements aplenty. But all their focus was on the matter at hand.
"So, can it be done?" Malakk asked, idly toying with one of the dice on the game table that had become the hub for this meeting.
"I would believe so, Frost King Malakk," his own master engineer, Yaraku, said, but they sounded uncertain.
The Tuskarr, Baru, bristled, "Not here it cannot, not if you want to use it, you must make it on this land you intend to travel."
"Hmm, so it cannot float, a shame but not ruinous," he hummed.
The Amani, Spearcrafter_Otembe, waved his hand, "We can make the frame here, your Iron Trees would be best, combine it with that ever so light Saronite of yours in just the right spots and it can be interlocked together even after sea travel. You will need to build the frame on land or carry it in pieces across the see however."
A murmur of agreement ran throughout the chamber and the purple haired troll was given a moment to preen before humility returned.
"Your experience is most welcome, Otembe, with that in mind I would have you all draw up plans as best you can," Malakk said playfully rolling the dice back along the table.
"We should test it first though yes, as best we can?" Baru murmured, thick fingers running through his beard.
Bith'Sa spoke up from the door, "Frost King Malakk, Prophet_of_Har'koa is here to speak with you, it seems he has good news."
Malakk smirked and flung himself to his feet, "Friends, avail yourselves my hospitality and do whatever needs be done to see if this is at all possible." He gestured and Kutube'sa placed several blue medallions bearing his sigil on the table. "New Rank Medallions, re-forged and fresh to ensure you have access to all you may need with no trouble."
"Thank you, Frost King Malakk," several cheered as they took up their insignia, the group breaking up as some moved to talk, others to drink and some to continue their dice game.
Malakk heard the doors shut behind him and he began the trip from the chamber, towards the nearest aerial reception hall, a great smile on his lips.
Malakk marched towards his throne room, apparently a guest awaited him and had already made herself at home.
"The Prophet_of_Har'koa seems to think this is an answer to the Sea-Priests prayers," Bith'sa murmured.
'Priests see the sun rising in the morning as an answer to a prayer,' Malakk thought.
Kutube'sa hummed, "Think it's some island troll with a patron we don't know?"
"Could be," Malakk murmured, irritated by the outsider's apparent caginess and his own prophets playing along with it.
'Still if this is an oceanic priest that would be good tidings,' he mused.
Shango was a fine Loa for sailing, but the priests and prophets had been trying to court an oceanic Loa, akin to Oacha'noa, to their side as well. Sadly, despite Zul'Drak's Loa's penchant for greed, most gods and spirits rarely left their chosen subjects with ease and that was without such efforts risking offence.
None of which was helped by there being few oceanic Loa to begin with, though old records indicated it had not always been this way.
'Maybe Anu'Barak had a point about evil things in the depth?' Malakk mused, tongue clicking as he turned old names over in his head before dismissing the thought. That was a question for late night philosophizing, and he needed to focus.
The throne room side doors swung open with a booming wave of air and Malakk was greeted by the sight of a lean, sharp troll woman with shiny pink hair, and an odd outfit.
She wore thick boots and thin dark pants adorned with shark teeth, but the coat draped over her loose white top was more of human or maybe goblin make if Arctikus's word was anything to go by. With green material and gold buttons, while adorning her head was what he guessed was a captain's hat and…
He repressed some amusement at the sight.
Either to obscure, enhance or simply adorn her oddly small tusks the troll woman had attached a golden hook to each. Coming to stand before his throne she had taken a seat atop a small portable cannon, rolling a black ball beneath her free foot. A shark styled belt buckle glinted at her waste as she sent him a fang filled smirk.
Near her was Loque'Koa, prophet of Har'koa, his spotted leather robes brushing up against the bag of cannon balls she had dropped on the chamber floors as guard's watcher her suspiciously.
Malakk just waved, "Greeting and welcome to my home! Know that I have accepted you as my guest and will treat your accordingly." He took a seat upon his throne and tapped the smooth stone, "Now then, how may the Frost King be of service?"
The stranger folded her arms over her chest and chortled, "My, my, such a royal reception I am receiving, oh noble Frost King. I could near mistake you for Zandalari with such pomp and hospitality!"
Malakk's fangs ground for but a moment as several others hissed and the prophet suddenly looked at his guest in wide eyed shock as Malakk spoke. "You would have to travel to Zandalar to see the manner of their king, I myself would not waste the time."
Deciding to cut to the chase before their banter could continue, he simply said, "Your Loa is Gral, and I take it he has sent you hear upon hearing the preaching of our uninitiated priests?"
Her eyes flashed before she stood up to her full height and clapped but once, "So the reputation isn't just for show, you've good eyes your majesty." She offered a sarcastic, flourish of a bow and announced, "Gral is my patron and together we have seen battle on every front and in all things, we are of a mind, know me, Captain_Hooktusk!"
"You have a reputation among the Amani shipwrights," Malakk commended. "They speak highly of your efforts in the Second War. I am thinking, are my schemes already known across the seas?"
She grinned, hooks glinting in the flames and crystal light, "Nothing stays secret in this world for long, least of all war. But fret not, you've got more to worry about with goblins setting up shop in Northrend than the humans being ready for ya. They'd never listen to us 'creatures'."
Something in her tone radiated a bitterness and Malak wondered at the source of her smaller frame and delicate features but shrugged it off. "I am glad to know we have not lost the element of surprise, but I ask the question. What is it you want here, captain?"
The young troll rose her arms high and roared with laughter, "What do I want? I want wealth, I want excitement and adventure… But most of all I want this!" She doffed off her hat and bowed grandly, "I am Hooktusk, your new Navarch."
Malakk forced the laughter bubbling in his chest down, to announce, "Audacious, aren't you?"
"I am a pirate, it is in my nature," She answered.
"T- This is not how you said it would be done," Loque'Koa sputtered, after finally finding his voice.
Malakk just rumbled with laughter, "Calm down friend, I am not angered," Malakk rested his chin on his fist and hummed, "Why should I appoint you as my Navarch?"
"You will appoint me your Navarch because I'm the best choice," she waved lazily, "I saw your fleet, tis a mighty fine thing, but your sailors are inexperienced, novices. I'd sooner appoint my first, second and third mates to be captains than the best of yours."
"There is a fine line between pride and arrogance," Malakk offered smoothly, "You are dancing upon it."
"Perhaps," She answered carefully, "But I speak the truth. The Amani are too worn down to lead for you, and your own forces may be training, but they have not lived or fought on the sea & seen her for the harsh mistress she is. I have grown up on the ocean, fought in raids, mastered a ship and led entire battles."
She tapped her belt buckle, "Besides, I know ya'll are looking for a new Prophet."
"You could be a Zandalari spy, Gral is well liked by them," Malakk mused, not believing it for a second.
Hooktusk scoffed, "They'd not welcome a breed like me on their golden isle and I don't need-em. As for mighty Gral, he grows bored with the Zandalari's sedentary existence. They worship, but they do not hunt," She threw her arms wide. "You are where the future is, you and your empire will have battles and offerings for generations to come!"
'Typical ravenous Loa,' Malakk mused. "Let us make a deal then," he said aloud
"I do like myself some deals," She grinned, "A captain's word is her bond after all."
Malakk rose to his full height and proclaimed, "You and yours shall join my followers in their training, surpass them all as you claim and I will let you dictate any changes to our methods and if that works out." He met her greedy smirk with his own, "You shall be awarded the rank of Navarch, granted a temple along the coast as well as acolytes and riches aplenty."
The captain slapped her hat over her head, slung her cannon over her arm and hefted the cannon balls over her shoulder, "And when I claim my deserved rank, I will call you my king," She swore before striding out of the chambers.
"I look forward to it."
Hooktusk rather liked she and her crew's accommodation in Gundrak.
It wasn't her old place down by the shore on Undermine, but she couldn't deny the art, the crystals and comforts made her 'feel' rich.
Or at least like she was about to rob someone rich.
Loafing on a large lounge, her lieutenants had all spread out across the dimly lit chamber, not needing to huddle by the comfortably roaring fire but instead taking seats, cushions or simply laying back against walls.
A motley mix of trolls, goblins and more, the first to speak up was Sizzle.
Fangs glinting, the Gnoll giggled nervously, "Was it right? To be so cocky?"
Hooktusk shrugged, "If he cannot handle me at my most obnoxious, he and his would not heed me at all."
Jin'Ha nodded, his mossy green skin tinged a shade whiter than it had once been, "Warlord Zul'jin always bore you with good humor."
Gaz scoffed, brushing burning red hair from her face, the goblin pushed herself up on her seat, "And how did that turn out, hm?"
Jin'Ha growled, "The navy did not lose that war."
"Well, you're half right, the better question is, should we have fought in it at all," Gaz countered.
Sizzle chuckled, not quite nervous but tense, "We are pirates. We are always at war."
Hooktusk rolled onto her back, damaged, golden coin from the heyday of the Gurubashi empire clasped between two of her three fingers and thumb. 'Explain that one, 'ma,'.
She waved her hand and cut the chatter, "We don't now if we got hired yet, or what comes next if we are, so peace for now. I won't be leading us into a war we can't win."
Gaz arched her eyebrow, "And if we do?"
"Win?" Jin'Ha chuckled.
"Or lose," Gaz countered.
"Then we will do what we always do," Sizzle whined, nursing a pot of tea.
Gaz huffed tiredly, dark shadows under her eyes as she looked for Grol & Tol for their take, but the twin headed Ogre remained in their meditation.
So Hooktusk sent her a wane smile and said, "A pirate's life is all narrow escapes. So, enjoy having a safe port and comfy bed for now, ey?"
At that moment she felt her belt buckle thrum and stilled, her lieutenants freezing too, all aware of what that meant.
However, she sensed now danger through her patron's touch, but pleased intrigue. She sat up hastily and marched to the looming door and pulled it open with a whoosh and was greeted by the sight of a Drakkari messenger who blinked owlishly before bowing.
"This one brings word from Frost King Malakk," Rising to their full impressive height the troll added. "Frost King Malakk, Grand Prophet Gal'Darah and Warlord Zol'Maz shall be accompanying you on the morning stars rise south, to begin overseeing the trials that shall determine your rank."
'That was swift,' she thought, but rallied quickly as they continued.
"As for tonight you and your crew are invited to join his majesty in the throne room for a feast, if you so wish to," The Drakkari bowed and stood at attention, awaiting her response.
Hanging off the door she contorted her head back and smirked, "Well, what do you say we eat our esteemed host out of house and home before blowing through these trials, ey?"
Her lieutenants cheered.
Otembe had been invited to the feast, naturally, but he had turned down the invitation. Fortunately, no one could fault a scholar for being reclusive at times.
Malakk and his court were pleasant enough company, always eager to listen of tales outside the isolated little world they had built themselves, but Otembe had reached the zenith of what such exchanges could gift him.
Instead he returned to his temporary lab, a side chamber to his ornate guest chambers in which he barely slept for there was so much to do!
'Samples, spells and Special Ingredients, oh my,' he mused happily.
Gaze dancing across his now crowded lab, the stone walls almost entirely hidden behind large tables, the enchanted anvil and of course, layer after layer of materials. Be it lumber from Iron Wood Trees, trinkets gathered from across and beyond Zul'Drak, demonic blades, a broken lightning gun from the rumored Iron Dwarves, and of course, Saronite.
'So much fuss, for such a small thing,' Otembe mused, looking at the strangely shifting ingot, contained within a three dimensional hexagonal prison, layered with runes and holy magic.
Otemebe gave the construct a carless toss and watched it clink against a sealed box of harvested crystals and into his hand,.
'A weaker rebound than one would expect, but reality's rules still hold,' He mused, before twirling a slim, steel scalpel in his fingers and jamming it against the Saronite.
To no effect.
A weaker troll might have despaired at Malakk's quiet suggestion to try and build a cannon that could launch Saronite, but Otembe just smirked, mind already ablaze.
'A latch mechanism could maybe work, but no, too unreliable, and the Saronite could not do near enough damage to make such a venture worthwhile.'
Enchanted spears and javelins were an answer unto themselves, but they had much the same problem. Too blunt, for too little gain outside of the most specific of circumstances.
Placing the Saronite down on an empty spot at his desk, Otembe drew his scroll out and began going over his lists. There would be plenty of time here and at home to puzzle over such a task, but for now, he had to be sure he was getting everything he could no matter how irrelevant.
After all, when granted such free reign, one could not fault a scholar for seeking to gain all they could.
Hooktusk was fortunate that years of practice and the blessings of a Loa who allowed her indulgences, let the captain shrug off the worst fall out from the previous night.
She and her crew had been the center of attention, even in the not quite brimming hall, Drakkari and 'Wolvar' she had found out, who were curious of their daring do across the seas.
Or intrigued by the sight of unfamiliar creatures, especially Grol and Tol, the only one among her crew who stood nearly as tall as any given Drakkari.
Those factors and the size of Drakkari servings meant she had more than her fair amount of Drakkari wine while sampling Hookah and foods in abundance.
Brushing a hand through pink locks, she arched her brow as they trekked down the grand, if looming halls of Gundrak and she finally asked.
"Will we not be taking dragons due south?"
Malakk glanced back, he had swapped his formal robes for a sort of layered jacket-robe with long twin tails that made it resemble a coat, "No, the dragons are far too mulish for anyone but trained handlers. Bats would do, they have served us for many generations, but…" He dragged out the word with tinkling amusement. "We have something else in mind."
Grol & Tol's eyes shot up, the metal plates adorning their faces glinting as their eyes were tinged a faint purple.
A twin set of grand and ornate doors were pulled open with a heave and Hooktusk took in the sight of a ritual chamber. Drakkari iconography drifting the closer one got to the heart and replaced by stranger, spider like shapes. That were themselves touched with sharp swirls and rigid containment runes, that called to mind Amani Enchanters and even the work of Gnomish enchantment.
"Teleportation," She hummed.
"Teleportation!" Malakk cheered, cloak billowing as he rose his mighty arms high, "A gift from the Nerubians, and curated by Frostmane and Amani arcanists."
Without fear or worry, the Frost King stepped into the heart of the ritual circle where a tall, languid creatures of shining carapace and almost organic looking robes awaited them, pincers clicking.
Not one to be outdone on boldness, Hooktusk quickly joined the Drakkari and his bodyguards and was followed by her crew.
As the Nerubian began weaving its magics, carefully watched by Malakk's guards as well as Grol & Tol, she simply rolled her shoulders and asked.
"So, think the bats will stick around now that you have this?"
Malakk chuckled, "I am told too much teleportation is a problem for the skein, and with so much ritual and magics? No, I don not think the loyal bats shall be retired in my lifetime."
The magic was growing to a powerful hum when Gaz cut in, "You should look into getting some good Goblin Zeppelins, my second cousin works on those and they're a delight!"
The world vanished into a writhing stream of surging color and sensations, Hooktusk could 'taste' blue and then a moment later that was in truth instantaneous, they had arrived.
Malakk looked unperturbed, merely clicking his tongue, "Zepplins, ey?"
Hooktusk meanwhile scanned their surroundings and quickly spied Daggercap Bay where she and her crew had docked. All five of her ships still rested comfortably in the bay, dwarfed as they were by Drakkari vessels, worked on by Tuskar, Forest and Ice Troll alike.
The wind washed over them, and Hooktusk grinned, "I do so love to drink in the sea air again."
"I am growing rather partial to it myself," Malakk answered, before offering a polite nod to the Nerubian, "Thank you for your service."
The creature clicked several times and then vanished, presumably called back to the ritual chamber.
Clapping his hands, Malakk turned to face them, "Well, let us not keep Otembe and his cohorts waiting, I am sure you have many questions for them!"
Jin'Ha blinked owlishly, "The Warlord sent you his Otembe?"
"Indeed, he did," Malakk said, with a pleased hum.
'Then he is quite taken with whatever you offer him,' Hooktusk mused, before nodding, "His reputation speaks for itself, shall we go? I am eager to begin these trials of yours."
Malakk chuckled and there was a faint edge to it, "Oh fret not, they shall begin soon enough, and I am thinking you will find them both efficient and sufficient!"
Otembe's research station in what the Drakkari called Utgarde_Keep was even more cluttered than his Gundrak guest quarters.
Where there weren't materials there were sketches, where there weren't sketches there were notes, where there weren't notes, one could find anything from mangled metal, to finely crafted gears and experimental plating.
It was a familiar ordered chaos, but even more comfortable than his own home.
The Spearcrafter looked over a scroll of etching he'd made of the runes inlaid to the structure, both the ancient Vyrkul and the Drakkari's bolstering script.
'These will prove useful,' he mused, before sealing the scroll away in his Ula'Tek blessed trunk.
Otemebe turned his attention to the oval window and watched as some of the landing vessels drilled.
'We need to better compensate for the humans defenses and small ports,' He mused.
Drakkari ships were proving massive as one would expect, but while helpful on the open sea, to an extent, it could make an ordered landing party tricky.
'I should speak with that Baru again,' he mused, hand rushing through dark purple locks.
So far he had found he liked the Tuskarr, even aside their near uniformly cheer disposition, a cultural affect he did not dig into, the simple fact was he'd been impressed. Their kayaks and leather craft eclipsed both Amani and Drakkari efforts by a fair margin.
'It is no wonder those Rageclaw are so fond of them,' he mused, watching as a small gathering of local Wolvar sat on the shore, fishing and watching the trolls practice, cheering on chosen vessels and jeering others.
'The sails, sails are another problem,' Otembe mused, Amani cannon vessels had adapted a sail stretched across a sealed roof and buoyed by Loa magic. But that would be too vulnerable for greater vessels, yes large sails were far too easy a target...
His mind wandered as he saw a Drakkari stretching, their arms whirling and his mind flickered back to the Second War.
'Gnomish rudders.... There is potential there,' he thought, turning away and returning to his sketches.
Otembe had work to do.
Great Mother Arctikus was never without work to do.
When she was not managing her tribe, she was aiding in war planning; when she was not doing that she was navigating the complex web of alliances and friendships held by the Frost King's Court.
'And when I am not doing that, I am doing this,' she mused, looking around the great halls of Azjol'Nerub. No longer was she upon its pristine walkways or web like structures, but instead she was housed in a... Villa, of sorts.
It still held to the Nerubian aesthetic, smooth dark stones were lined with gold and green jeweled ornamentation that all seemed to glow, with a subtle but pervasive light.
As the only tribe with no historical animosity for the Nerubians and more pointedly, the only one's to have stayed safely in the nation in living memory. Malakk had appointed them his chief diplomats alongside a small Rageclaw contingent, who had sporadically managed to trade with Nerubians in the past, but always with wariness.
It was not a job she resented, though some dubbing her tribe spider speakers, even in jest, could pose problems, especially for those deeply wounded by Nerubians in the past. Some like Moorabi only seemed to tolerate the practical partnership due to loyalty to Malakk, but it was her duty to see them through to something more permanent.
As the Nerubians had no real history of long term diplomacy there were no guest houses so to speak, and as this accord was expected to last sometime, the duty of hosting had become something of a political matter.
'Which is how I am here,' she mused, bowing to the Nerubian queen, Nezar'Azret.
"I thank you, honored hostess, for your attention in this matter," she intoned, careful to keep her thoughts similarly ordered.
The Nerubian queen flicked her pincers in the physical approximation of a shrug, "Your interest in this matter speaks well of you. Follow me through the hall of memoirs."
Clipped and cleanly cut words as always, Arctikus did not take offence and fell in at the queens side.
Nerubian queens were quite fascinating in a way. Their bodies larger than even Spider Lords, but not nearly so heavy, and their posture placed them somewhere between that of a Spider Lords and a Vizier. Stretching out forward but also up, with a long, but sturdy body trailing behind. Nezar'Azret's carapace was a lovely blend of bright teals with subtle purple ornamentations, marking a dark black frame.
"Look upon this creation of Azor'Yuz," the queen intoned.
Sitting on a raised pedestal was a strangely shaped strip of steel shaped akin to a diamond or star, lined with runes and... Crevices?
"Not with only eyes, you mind, welcome its history," Intoned Nezar'Azret with a slow and methodical clicking.
Slowing her breathing and quieting her mind, Arcitkue tried to picture holding the item, feelings its grooves, so familiar now, as it clicked and whirred, akin to a pattern as new layers were unveiled and interlocked...
"A puzzle... Diamond, such intense complexity," She intoned, trying to recollect the manner in which it unfolded and reformed so neatly.
Nezar'Azret clicked her pincers and ducked her head, "A master work of my chorus's creation. Interplaying the desire to take apart and understand with rigid structure and intellectual challenges."
Arctikus nodded sagely as their tour pressed on down the hall, where artifacts and finished experiments were held on display, but they were not akin to trophies, not really. Nerubian iconography lined the walls as similar art might a troll Ziggurat and she mused on the name as they approached an intricately woven silk structure.
"It is a delight to see Nerubian art, I am humbled you would share this with me and mine," she said gently, trying to ensure her genuine interest and sincerity radiated into the ether.
Nezar'Azret clicked intensely, head bobbing as she spoke, "Art is the pinnacle of wise civilizations. Only a successful people can create it and truly appreciate its beauty. The skillful blending of different materials into ordered structure to convey ideas. It is the ultimate form of self expression."
Arctikus recalled humble cave painting, drawn so that when light shone they looked to be moving, ice sculptures that melted but were beloved, and the lovingly tended to linens that became patchwork.
She did not speak any of this, tried not to even think it as even as Nezar'Azret's gaze flickered to her, a rare thing among Nerubians.
Smiling, she answered the unspoken question, "This insight into your culture is truly welcome, honored hostess."
A faint clicking was her answer, maybe akin to laughter or thought, but Nezar'Azret continued, "Even as the Scourge pressed in on us, we created art. We would not let our glory be forgotten. As a queen, I admire seeing that perseverance in others."
Swallowing, Arctikus ducked her head in thanks but could not answer before Nezar'Azret pressed on almost excitedly.
"Before you, witness the poem of Webspinner Zanagara..."
Icemist_Village was a pleasant place, if crowded, Ragelcaw had often found.
Built on an island in an alcove beneath mountains where the water flowed thanks to eternally boiling hot springs that ensured steaming water flowed down great waterfalls, making a moat.
The burgeoning city was a place of bronze wood, dark leather and white bones; with carved eagles of the city's patron watching over all. Every inch of space used, with buildings stacked atop one another so much it felt bursting at the seams.
Yet for all that, it never felt hectic, the Taunka, an intense and hardy people, carried themselves through the crowds with nary a raised voice. The mood was not celebratory, but it was quietly jubilant, a sense of ease and relief, the Wolvar could sense even within the Icemist hall.
It was a large long house, with a grand doorway at its heart that let one stare out across the village. Several stories high, each layer was lined with treated wood and decorated in everything from leathers, to beads and more.
At Rageclaw's side, Elder Shaman Moky, bedecked in their finest robe and several ornaments gained as gifts from Taunka. They took a lap of their tea, looking across the low table to meet the gaze of their honored hosts, asking, "There will be no mourning?"
The question was for, Tundra_Coldhoof, Grand Elder of the Icemist Tribe who ruled all the tribes in fact if not in name. She cut an imposing figure, with her long horns, mammoth leather robes and a dark, dire wolf at her side, but her expression was serene as she answered.
"The dead have been mourned and the disrespect to their resting place avenged," She ducked her head, "You have done us a great service by returning our stolen ancestors."
Rageclaw bowed their own head, "There is respect for the dead, and Icemist have long been friends." Convincing Malakk to find and bring back as many dead Taunka as possible had been simple, getting the weary Drakkari soldiers to agree, much harder. Rageclaw was glad it paid off.
Roanauk_Icemist, chief of the Icemist tribe, mightiest of the Taunka who ruled all the tribes in fact if not in name. He was a great, hulking figure, with silver fur and dark leathers, braided beard hanging down to the middle of his chest.
Deep tones rumbling, the Taunka spoke, "May our bonds over the firelight echo down to our descendants long after we are gone."
Recognizing the saying Rageclaw flicked out their tongue happily, "So long as our words do not break and our labors lay a strong foundation, they shall."
The Taunka pair looked pleased, and Tundra nodded, placing down her steaming bowl of tea. "Words well said, dear friend, which has us speak this question."
Taking the set up, Roanauk continued, "Our ancestors tell us war is coming, one not against the Cold One or the Old One, but the blood of Skorn, the Vyrkul."
Rageclaw was probably more surprised than Moky who merely looked intrigued, glancing to them for guidance. Placing down their own saucer, Rageclaw's claws thrummed across leather pants as they spoke.
"Wise ancestors speak truth. Frost King Malakk's boon companion, sent in open ceremony and respect to offer terms of peace for wounded cousins was captured and killed."
Tundra snorted, "No respect, so alike to their ancestors, even the Easterlings have more sense."
Rageclaw could not say, no Wolvar history they had ever heard stretched far back enough to remember the Vyrkul at their peak. But diplomacy and trade involved much agreement, "You speak with wisdom, always. But this friend must then ask, do Icemist fear for Drakkari in this war?"
Roanauk huffed, "Ask this of me a season ago and I would say no, now though..." He glanced outside to where the great pyres were being readied. "Now we think our people should know this Frost King of yours."
Moky gasped, "You mean?" Before catching themselves, which left Rageclaw enough time to rally and duck their head, "This one is honored to introduce the Icemist's Speaker to Frost King Malakk, warmth will welcome them."
Tundra smiled gently, "This is good, before you leave with them , they would wish to speak with you of customs and manners."
"The Rageclaw will always assist," Ragelcaw offered gamely, tail wagging excitedly.
"This war," Moky said quietly, "Do your ancestors tell of it?"
Tundra tilted her head, "Have yours not?"
Moky clicked their fangs, "Rageclaw ancestors distant, quiet, always so."
Something in Tundra looked speculative at that but she shook her head in quiet acceptance, looking to Roanauk who spoke up with deep assuredness.
"They tell us this war shall change the world, and that your empire must fight well and prepare well for all that is to come."
Rageclaw lifted their saucer and clinked it against their drinking fellows answering.
"May we do just that."
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NOTES:
Thanks for reading, I hope it was fun, if you have any questions, comments or feedback please feel free to share them
Rohk'aka is the trolls name for the Eastern Kingdoms, it basically means 'Worlds Daughter', in reference to it having been part of Kalimdor.
Fun aside, but this entire chapter was written only recently, as when gong through the next chapter I realized things moved too fast and I wanted to explore what I'd done here more and better set the stage.
Hooktusk's application took inspiration from a scene from the old Spiderman 2000 cartoon and was also me basically putting Malakk against someone who uses his own campaign technique of "I am already the one in charge, you just haven't realized it yet".
As noted before, Travelogue inspired a lot of my takes on Nerubians, I hope my own spin on these ideas worked, the concept of Nerubians liking art enthralls me. I am so glad the idea of trade was suggested as its letting me give the Nerubians a little more exposure; while also getting the chance to give the Frostmane a touch more focus, especially on their culture.
I also decided that each of the lieutenants we see speak represent different ways one gets into piracy. Hooktusk was born into it, Sizzle is someone who found liberation from it, Jin'Ha is basically a privateer as he didn't want to give up the war, while Gaz is someone who is out of other options.
The Wolvar seen cheering on ships and fishing are not part of the Empire, they just lived in the area and basically got paid t let the Drakkari use it as they mostly keep to their island.
Also just to note, teleportation will not be a major part of the war effort, IE porting in thousands of troops or the like. This is still WC3 era, which means teleportation is one of two things. A, a very ritualized process with specific link locations between two places with magic, or B, something extremely skilled and powerful individuals can do for themselves within a reasonable distance, IE Jaina and Antonidas.
