Prologue 2 (Patreon)

For Arctikus the next few days passed by more as a blizzard than anything else. What time she did not spend among her tribe was spent with Malakk, while they waited on transports and for his speakers to finish treating with the locals.

He was deeply interested in all she and her followers had to say both on their own ways and needs, but also of their enemies, be it their military’s, territory or things like culture and traditions.

Arctikus could not grasp what his intent was on the latter subjects, but she did her best to share what she knew; even if at time she found herself frustrated and floundering in her own ignorance of anything outside the mountains.

“My apologies, Frost King Mallak,” she said, tracing a line on a stolen map, “But I can only be assured of this as the capital of the human alliance, I know not how far their lands extend.”

“You have told me much, Great Mother, so do not concern yourself with apologies,” he clicked his tongue quietly, one hand idly toying with a tusk as he looked on some Southern mountains marked as Grim Batol, bearing a scrawled, ugly little symbol she knew to mean ‘Orcs’.

Whatever he was musing, it was cast from his mind as their ears twitched, and the sound of sharp footsteps and soft padding paws echoed up from the tower. “Frost King Malakk, Chief Rageclaw has returned,” Announced Bith’Sa, a bulky and severe looking Drakkari woman in ornate, armored leather robes, bearing an intricately crafted stone shield and hammer embedded with gems.

‘His personal guard carry more wealth on them than my tribe sees in a month,’ she thought, not so much with bitterness but perhaps with a shade of envy.

Envy was then cast from her mind as she was forced to look well down at this ‘Chief Rageclaw’ Bith’Sa had spoken of.

They were a wolf, of a sort, pale white fur, round eyes and shining fangs dressed in leather robes adorned in jewels, bone and dyed patterns.

Malakk knelt to greet them with a hug and a chuckle, meaty paws and large palms slapped the other companionably as they embraced.

“I… Apologies, but who is this one?” She asked.

Running a hand through his thick, dark lavender locks, Malakk rose to his feet and gestured grandly between them. “Forgive the late introduction. Great Mother Arctikus, this is Chief Rageclaw, leader of the Drakkari-Rageclaw tribe. They are the premiere envoys of trade and diplomacy to our neighbors. Chief Rageclaw, I introduce you to Great Mother Arctikus, leader of the Frostmane Tribe whom fought through great adversity to join us here.”

The idea that the Drakkari Empire, often spoken of as deplorable savages by the Zandalari, a fact she had ignored out of desperation, not only traded with non-trolls but welcomed them into their empire was… Staggering to say the least.

Still, she hoped it did not show on her face as she leaned forward and clasped her hand around the Wolvar’s arm, mimicking the tiny creatures offered gesture, “It is my honor to make your acquaintance,” She said stiffly.

“The honor is mine,” The lupine said, voice sharp and high, “My tribe is eager to hear of all you have to tell. First though we must ensure safe travels.”

“With that in mind,” Malakk hinted.

“Of course, yes!” Rageclaw said, almost hopping in place, “We can use the old road. Do not stray. Furbolg watch with humans in the woods. But the journey will be fair, and the carriages and carts arrive shortly!”

“Marvelous, you and I shall link up with Malaka'raz and lead the convoy then,” Malakk said, motioning to the diminutive Wolvar who bowed swiftly.

Turning to face her fully, he clapped her on the arm and smiled, “Great Mother, among those overseeing this journey is my Grand Prophet, Gal’Darah and Sky Sovereign Quetz’Lith. They shall provide assistance and protection for the journey and should arrive shortly.”

Mimicking the Drakkari salute, Arctikus slapped a fist against her upper chest, and said, “As you command, Frost King Malakk, I shall begin getting my tribe into order, and we shall leave on your command.”

_______________________________________________________

The Grand Prophet Gal’Darah cut a fierce figure.

A massive dark pink mohawk sat atop a stout, broad and sharply muscled frame of pale blue furred troll. His tusks lacked Malakk’ nearly absurd size but were sharpened like daggers. Ritualistic tattoos and scars could be glimpsed through the gaps in ornate, enchanted wooden armor, that was itself covered in rich paints and faintly glowing runes. All of which was capped off by the symbol of his patron Loa, Akali the rhino carved to look like it was charging upon his form fitting chest plate.

Despite that, he turned out to be much like she found Malakk, urbane and rather cheerful, greeting her warmly and assuring the people of the mighty of the Drakkari Empire and their great Frost King’s protection.

With her words and his magically amplified voice, it was not long before her tribe were being carried across the bay and loaded up onto long interlinked carriages pulled by mammoth and Rhino as a select few bats flew overhead.

Now their journey to Zul’Drak would finally come to a close. 

_______________________________________________________

The journey itself was proving comfortable enough to Arctikus’s reckoning, far easier than she was used to in truth. Malakk, his Speakers and elite guard rode at the forefront as a vanguard while the convoy followed them on a long, partially overgrown stone road.

All around her ancient forests loomed large, lights danced on the breeze, yet the woods were so thick and overgrown they looked ready to swallow anyone whole. Growing up in the mountains and seeing only the swamps before escaping to the North she was ill at ease, even if the chill wind was comforting in its familiarity.

‘The little one’s don’t seem so afraid though,’ she thought, smiling as she guided her raptor alongside the heavy carts to the sight of her children engaged in anything from stories, to game to simply watching the passing landscape with wide eyes, trying to pick out birds, spirits, and idols from the scenery.

‘Another one?’ She thought as a crumbled monument on the side of the road faded into view. Arctikus gripped her raptors reigns tighter, egging the beast forward; the crimson scaled biped was different than her old Ram, Gim’cha, but a few days riding and their shared experience made the learning curve a gentle one.

“Ah Great Mother, is everyone looking well?” Called the Grand Prophet from atop his hulking Rhino, Baku. The thundering beast dwarfing its already oversized companions and leaving Arctikus wondering how anyone could feed more than a few let alone a herd of such creatures.

Shaking off the confusion, she brought her mount up to the rhino’s side and answered, “Everyone is faring well, your people have been very accommodating.”

Gal’Darah bowed his head and grinned, “It is only just, Great Mother, but all the same we thank you. Still…” He must have seen her gaze drift to the broken statue, “I imagine you have some questions?”

Was she so transparent?

Pushing that aside with a nod, she said, “I do, if you do not mind me asking.”

“Not at all, it is the duty of priest and scholars alike to learn and share knowledge after all and I would never be remiss in my duties.”

Nodding, she motioned to the dark, weed strewn path and more signs of broken monuments, asking “This path, these ruins, they are of Drakkari style are they not?”

“They are, indeed, their construction was ordered during the last dominion of the empire over a century ago, that they still stand speaks well of the paths worth and the skill of the crafters,” He said, though something in his tone felt dusty and strange to her, lacking the lyrical hum she was growing used to.

Her gaze drifted to the woods and she squinted at a flickering flash of fur and skin that vanished just as quickly when Malakk’s Sky Sovereign, Quetz’Lith, and her bat riders swooped overhead. The troll woman’s red leather suit and burning orange hair standing out against the cloudy skies, as they rose high once again.

“If these paths are yours and these monuments too, why does Malakk ask permission to walk these roadways?” She looked out to the East, the Sea no longer visible to her eyes, “I saw signs of a once great city sunk beneath the waves, was that not yours as well?”

Gal’Darah clacked his fangs together before answering, “They were ours, in a sense of the word… However, our ancestors did not build them as they did Zul’Drak and Gundrak in ages past.”

“Slaves?” she gasped.

“Not quite, though little better,” The Grand Prophet said, glaring off into the sky. “The last dominion was a cruel and crumbling empire. One ruled by an arrogant band of emperors and empresses who sought to make all of Northrend part of Zul’Drak, to reshape the continent to their whims, not out of need or grand ambitions but rank greed.”

Arctikus nodded along, wondering if this was where the Drakkari’s reputation as a ‘savage’ tribe hailed from, even if it was no longer apt. ‘Though stories say it goes back farther than that, so something is off I am thinking,’ she mused, before refocusing her mind to Gal’Darah’s words.

“They ordered invasions in all directions,” Gal’Darah continued, arms sweeping wide, “But nowhere more than these Grizzly Hills. It was here that they fought the Furbolg, Taunka and humans, crushing their warriors and forcefully dragging them into the empire, demanding harsh tribute in the form of Contra if they wished to remain on their lands.”

The troll tisked derisively, “They treated their own kind little better, embracing Zandalar’s beloved caste system to try and control the people.”

“Zull’Drak does not have castes?” She asked delicately, sensing the Zandalari were a… Difficult topic.

“Not as such no, my apologies if perchance I offended,” the Grand Prophet added.

“Not at all, too few and too humble are we Frostmane for such things to hold great sway, outside of our leadership at least,” She amended.

“Ah as it is with us as well, but where was I?” He asked in a gentle drawl, not sounding remotely lost but more like a storyteller trying to re-capture an audience focus. “Ah yes, in the end all it took was a brief duel for succession for the dominions to collapse entirely. Soon enough the royal family was slaughtered, their remains entombed in a now long neglected crypt North of here.”

“The crypt still stands?” She asked, ears twitching curiously.

“It does,” Gal’Darah snorted, “Northrend is well known for ghosts and strong spirits, and as a royal tomb it was well enchanted and fortified. If our Frost King did not hold history in such high regard, I imagine he would order its destruction, but he knows better, let it be left dilapidated and hated, a fitting legacy for cruel leaders.”

“I take it then, Frost King Malakk does not descend from that lot?” Arctikus asked, gaze drifting to the vanguard where Malakk seemed to be talking animatedly with his bodyguards.

Gal’Darah chuckled, a low huffing sound, “Indeed he does not, but to explain our Frost King I must first convey what followed the Dominions fall and the most recent Warring States Era.”

Spreading his arms wide, light danced in the air and images danced on her senses, as he spoke. “With the empire ripping itself apart those whom it had conquered rose up with a swift and brutal vengeance. Cities were laid low, temples despoiled, and many died.”

“It was a tragedy,” he said with a wave towards the forests, “but it is hard to fault their rage.”

“None appreciate being conquered and driven off their land,” She said, grip on her reigns tightening.

“Indeed so,” Gal’Darah hummed. “But as I was saying, the fighting carried on for some years, but as time passed our ancestors drew ever inward. Eventually, they abandoned these hills entirely, only leaving Zul’Drak to raid and steal, like common thugs,” he scowled. “It was a shameful time, but that too faded, as the war raged across Zul’Drak for control, letting us become like creatures from stories, remembered only as monsters that descended from the mountains to conquer and destroy before being chased away.”

“Thus, the none too subtle escort,” Arctikus mused as she scowled at the sight of a distant and rugged looking human watching them through a spy glass on a tree branch.

“Quite so,” Gal’Darah’s tone grew lighter. “Of course, our Frost King Malakk seeks only camaraderie with our neighbors and the fact we can pass through this land at all is a testament to his wisdom and the skill of the Rageclaw whom bargain on our behalf.”

“That…” She began gently, “Actually does beg the question. How did they come to serve the empire?” Ancestors she hoped she phrased that properly.

Gal’Darah’s answered was a bemused expression, accompanied by a light clicking of his tongue, which she was beginning to associate with being a Drakkari nicety, perhaps indicating introspection or consideration?

Finally, he answered, “The Rageclaw’s history is long, but if you just want to skim the tablet so to speak, they never served the old dominion directly, always wandering far abroad hunting beasts, spices and treasures. Some acted as mercenaries and the items they brought to trade were always welcome, but they were too mobile to be ruled.”

He held his palm out flat, slowly balling it into a fist, “As the Empire closed in on itself, they sought to retain this profitable connection and cut deals with several rising polities, factions and tribes. Eventually, this made them so prosperous they needed to settle if they wished their many cubs to be safe, and they were given land alongside a Great lake that now bears their name by an ailing polity that would welcome a friendly neighbor.”

Leaning back in his saddle, he chuckled, “As to the rest, they continued to act neutral traders for years, before Malakk brought them into the Drakkari Tribe.”

It took a moment for Arctikus to properly process the other trolls’ words, as she asked, “They are, deemed Drakkari then?”

“Indeed,” Gal’Darah cheered, “We are Ice Trolls, you are Frost, and they are Wolvar, but in the end we are all Drakkari” He thumped his chest grandly, “And we are all united behind Frost King Malakk!”

She leaned back on her raptor as the beast rankled, patting its head, she murmured, “You think very highly of your liege.”

“As do you, I would venture?” Gal’Darah answered with a massive grin.

Casting aa glance ahead of her, she nodded, “He is younger than I and impetuous, but he has done more for my people than anyone else. What of you though? By your own words it sounds as though peace in Zul’Drak is a new thing, I am thinking?”

“It is,” He sighed, “For decades we fought for territory and influence, priests and great families, tribes and polities, all factions vying for influence and power.” Shaking his head, he sighed, “It was into this never-ending series of skirmished that we were all born, Malakk as well, hailing from humble means he saw much of the fighting and it stirred him to take action!”

The trolls voice grew higher as a zealous, joyful song swelled up inside his throat.

“He trained, and studied and wandered for years, returning to us only when he knew it was time, during a grand tournament, a lingering sign of unity but really just a means of preening,” Gal’Darah looked to her eyes sparkling.

“He rode into the amphitheater atop a howling Elemental, having claimed his first of many titles, Conqueror of Storms! He proclaimed himself our king and neither sling not sword could touch he and his entourage.”

He thumped his chest swiftly against his heart, over and over, “Never in all my years had I seen such confidence, such an aura of authority! After he left, I knew I had to find him again, and when I did, he proved his worth by rejecting my offer he take the city of Gundrak as his home base with which to conquer Zul’Drak. It was all already his after all, as was all Zul’Drak. We just failed to realize that truth.”

The Grand Prophet looked up to the sky, “Instead he travelled the land, solving disputes, saving the starving, and striking down the cruel. He was not just a king, or warrior, but an arbiter of justice, and more and more people came to see the truth. Weak tribes and ailing polities at first but eventually other great factions like my own rallied behind him. Even to those who served foul and wicked trolls he showed mercy, even when it risked his life he chose the highest path and through it all I watched in awe…”

The troll relaxed into his saddle, an easy grin on his face, “Through his reign a peace I long since thought could only be brought about with raw force and draconian cruelty has reigned. I would sacrifice my life for him, without a thought or fear.”

They lingered in silence for a time, before hummed, “Interesting words for a priest.”

That drew a cackle from Gal’Darah, “You are not the first to say that haha, I think you shall get along just fine in Zul’Drak, and speaking of which, behold!”

Arctikus followed his gesture and felt her eyes nearly drop from her head.

It was a staircase.

Or at least is resembled a staircase.

But it was not to a building, or temple, or fort or even made of brick.

No, this staircase was carved from mountains so tall she could not see the summit, black stone shaped and sharpened, covered in ornate carving and stretching out of sight, as if into the stars above.

“This is the way into Zul’Drak, Teth’koa Pass.”

_______________________________________________________

The journey up Teth’koa Pass had not been gentle and while by no means harrowing, Arctikus was well pleased when they finally came to a stop at a carved plateau.

Thickening clouds of mist hovered just outside the steps as though kept away by wards, while great braziers of purple flame lit up ornately carved stone floor that was filled with layer, after layer of intricate inscriptions.

The carriages and carts had, after their ‘skis’ were removed, been arranged in a wide, crescent circle, leaving it a simple matter for anyone and everyone to mingle, if they were up for more walking at least. Despite that, efforts by Malakk and a troupe of illusionists touring across the camp, Arctikus could see little mingling between her people and the Drakkari when no one was there to inspire it.

‘Well, we are Drakkari now, are we not?’ She mused, absent mindedly rubbing at her arm as she passed her kin filling their bellies eagerly but speaking little save for the children who were a chorus of excitement and intrigue.

‘My tribes silence isn’t hatred, or even offence… Its shame…’

The thought sent a stab of pain through her heart like a tusk, but it was plain to see. For all the extra cloaks or equipment, they might have been using, there was no comparison between her people’s worn cloth and hardy leather, to the sheer elegancy and wealth on display by even the common Drakkari escorts.

Where her people, even the children slept with weapons close at hand, the Drakkari laid out their fine armaments and gaze up at the sky fearlessly, utterly secure. Among Frostmane it would be galling but here it merely showed how assured the Drakkari were of their strength.

‘Strong bodies, full bellies and comforts aplenty,’ All things her ancestors might have once had, long denied them by a life scratching a living off rocks and gullies. All things they had dreamed of and fought for to no avail across six hundred years.

‘All things my son wanted for us…’

A shuddering breath escaped her, and she broke the line of caravans, breathing in cold, crisp air to compose herself.

“Great Mother,” A voice with a familiar twang whispered.

“I am well Barafu, return to your meal,” She answered.

There was a moment of silence before the arcanist slid up behind her, “I am not hungry, and you seem very far away.”

She half glanced at the slim woman and shook her head, “Eat more then, you are but skin and bones.”

“I would,” She chuckled, “But I almost fear falling to greed.”

Grunting in response she swallowed another frosty breath and slapped her cheeks, “I am fine, I needed but a moment.”

“If you say, Great Mother,” Barafue bowed.

“Oh,” Arctikus added as the other woman made to leave, “and give unto me a boon, when you return, try and speak with some of the… Other Drakkari, we are going to be seeing much of each other after all.”

Barafu’s carefully neutral expression became a touch mischievous as she flashed her small fangs, “There was a flier I had my eyes on, their leader.”

Arctikus searched her skull for the name and clapped as it raced to the forefront of her mind, “Quetz’Lith, I am thinking, with the orange hair?” Not waiting for Barafu to response, she took the other troll’s hand and pulled her back towards the camp, ignoring the sudden indignant sputtering, “I shall introduce you, it is time I met that one.”

The Sky Riders were not hard to find, gathered around their own magic brazier they did not mingle over much. Not rejecting company but seemingly not seeking it out either. ‘At least it is not just us,’ she mused, as a tall, lean but muscular troll sashayed out of the camp, orange hair looking like flames in the light, jewelry made of fangs adorning her frame.

“So, our new comrade approaches,” She chuckled, offering Arctikus her arm, which she gingerly took in a firmly polite grasp, “I am Quetz’Lith, the Frost King’s Sky Sovereign and leader of the Sky Shrieker Band.”

“Great Mother Arctikus, and, ah, advisor to the Frost King I am told, and my companion, Bonechiller Barafu,” she said, motioning to the younger woman who bower, murmuring an appraising, “It’s an honor,” with a pleased grin.

“The honor is mine,” Quetz’Lith chuckled rolling on the balls of her feet and watching them in seeming bemusement.

Arctikus had merely meant to make introductions, but curiosity compelled her to ask, “You said Sky Shriekers band, I take it you mean something akin to a tribe?”

“Something like,” the troll said, head lolling back in a brief, sharp shriek that was answered by her kindred, “We were a force to be reckoned with even before the Frost King’s rise. In Zul’Drak, no one else ruled the skies but we.”

Barafu chuckled, “The spirits may contest that claim, you know.”

Quetz’Lith smirked, “Our spirits are quite a breed apart from those you might find elsewhere, heh, literally.”

Pocketing that for later, she pressed on, “So, then Zul’Drak’s Sky Riders are only your, ah, band?” Arctikus intoned, trying to emulate the curious, almost musical, vibrations she had heard from Malakk and other Drakkari.

Quetz’Lith rolled her shoulders in a dismissive gesture, “Not anymore, but my band still makes up the elite core of it, but Malakk wants an,” Her tone sunk low in an imitation of the troll king. “Integrated military, founded on unity among our people.”

“Do you disagree?” Barafu asked for her, sensing Arctikus’s curiosity.

The Sky Sovereign ducked her head, a gesture Arctikus was beginning to think was abashed acknowledgement, as the woman answered, “It makes sense to expand the numbers now that we can, and everyone isn’t trying to kill each other anymore. It is just a pain trying to ingrain a lifetime of skills into ground pounders.”

“Is feeding the bats not also an issue?” Barafu asked, “If you have new members you must need new bats after all.”

“Getting the numbers up is tricky,” Quetz’Lith conceded with a wave, “These rodents wouldn’t even learn to hunt if we didn’t heckle-em and are too spoiled to feel a need to breed in great numbers. But feeding? No, even before this oh so glorious peace was declared food wasn’t hard to come by for even a weak polity and now that we aren’t killing one another we got food banks aplenty.”

“How is that possible?” Arctikus muttered, “The snow makes crops difficult and beasts harder still.”

“We have our ways,” Quetz’Lith said, “Best to speak to Malakk or someone about the aqueducts and fields though, they could explain it more smoothly.”

“Another feather to Malakk’s crown I see,” Arctikus said, looking to the cheerful troll, regaling a band of enraptured children with some story.

A sharp, keening snort escaped Quetz’Lith, “If you believe Gal’Darah, he can turn tears to flame, convert the poor into kings and make every wish come true.”

“I take it you disagree?” Arctikus asked, shock radiating in her tone.

Quetz’Lith shrugged, “His renown is not totally unearned but too many, especially priests and the like tend to forget he neither started alone nor took the crown alone.” Nodding in Malakk’s direction she continued, “His core group of supporters were called the noble fifteen, skilled shamans and scholars, kindly speakers and clever bureaucrats worked with warriors and priest. But barring, Prophet Moorabi, Malaka'raz and his two elite guards..." she threw back her drink, one finger sliding across her throat.

“Dead?” Barafu guessed.

Pulling the mug away, Quetz’Lith nodded, “Felled on his path to kingship; they gave their lives to hoist him higher that he could reach the crown. I don’t doubt it stung him, but they needed a legend come to life to make a true king and those around him, especially Gal’Darah, forget too quickly that no king was born alone”

“You saw us talking,” Arctikue mused, having noted the frequent jabs at Malakk’s own Grand Prophet.

“I would know even if I had not, he’s a good troll in his way but his passion and zeal run deep and as a spiritual type it is easy for him to shrug off loss. What does he need mourn for, he can commune with the honored dead and glimpse into their resting place?” The Bat Rider snorted, “Death comes for us all, but people like us who must train replacements and are not so enamored with the world beyond feel it different, we don’t lose sight of what was lost, we can’t.”

“We cannot…” Arctikus said slowly.

Quetz’Lith groaned, “I said something foolish did I not?”

“No, no, nothing you said sounds hollow, it merely left me with some thoughts of home,” she said.

Hiding her fangs, Quetz’Lith clapped her on the arm, “I’m not one for sentimentality, but I would wish for Zul’Drak to be your home, not to say forget the past but… If there is nothing good out there, why suffer it?”

“I will think on your words,” The prospect of forgetting thousands of generations of ancestor’s blood sweat and tears stung but she would not be rude. “Thank you for this meeting and your assistance Quetz’Lith. Oh, and Barafu has something she’d like to ask you,” Quetz’Lith said, turning to hide her mirth as she gently shoved the shocked troll towards the taller one and quickly got out of spell range.

_______________________________________________________

When the next morning came the light was still dim and clouded, but just as it had the night before, whatever Loa or spirits blessed Teth’koa Pass ensured that no snow or howling winds struck the convoy as they entered the last leg of their journey.

With the Grizzly Hills far behind them, the guard force grew completely lax and Malakk fell back with his elites to march with the rest of them, using his long purposeful strides to keep pace with the greater beasts. His regal robes exchanged for a tough leather kilt, matching bracers, anklets, and shoulder pads.

“I was visiting Har'koa’s temple for some hunting games when I heard word of your arrival,” he mentioned offhandedly as they made their way up the steps.

That had led to a brief digression, -mostly handled by a now more composed and scholarly Gal’Darah- on the specifics of Zukl’Drak’s Loa and gods. It had proven interesting, if somewhat sordid and bloody if Malakk’s few rejoinders about divine rivalries were to be believed. It had also led them to discussing Shango.

“I do hope collecting offerings shall not cause a strain on resources. Let alone offend the other Loa,” Arctikus said.

“The empires Loa shall not protest this request for the Storming One to be counted amongst their number,” Gal’Darah assured.

“We shall take no offering from other temples, but merely procure more,” Malakk said airily, “The Loa might moan but that will mean little in the end. Some still mutter so bitterly about the competition of old allies’ temples being restored after all.”

“And after what the Storm God did for your tribe, none would contest their worthiness as a part of the empires pantheon,” Gal’Darah added.

“I am thankful,” Arctikus assured, desperately trying to read between the layers of their words, as she added, “I received word from my priests that Shango seeks copper idols with which to commune more easily with the temple.”

“That should be easy enough, are there any other preferences, food, gems, that sort of thing…” Malakk said, before grinning widely as booming voices began to echo around them, “Take heart my friends, the city of Zul’Drak beckons!”

At those words alone, the beasts began to croon and Drakkari cheered and hooted.

Arctikus hastened her mount to keep pace, her words quiet and rushed, “I thought you said Zul’Drak was your nation?”

“I did, and yet it is a city and a nation,” Malakk grinned widely, as the final steps began to give way as trolls guarding the peaks chanted, incense burst into the air with colored smoke and Arctikus’s jaw fell open as she took in the sight before her.

First it was the snow, but not lumpy and chaotic like home, instead it dusted the grounds like a fine powder and leaving stone streets utterly untouched.

Then it was the lights, because everywhere she looked glowing idols and pillars of magic flames shone with no clear source, each bound to ornately decorated obelisks that would have taken months to carve.

Next it was the buildings. She had thought the grand steps and high walls either side had prepared her for scale, but fortresses, towers and what could only be described as apartments jutted out from the earth, massive monuments of dark stone, each looking as if it could disgorge an army on a whim!

And of course, there was the trolls, more than she had ever seen, more than she thought possible! Towering and strong, bedecked in robes and crisply cut leathers. They lined the streets, an organized host standing behind a leopard styled priests who hollered a grandiose greeting that was met with cheers as petals and sparking dust were thrown from the highest windows and falling like rain.

But above all it was that Zul’Drak, “Stretches on forever,” She gasped. Seeing no end to the eternally flat planes wherever she looked, there were monuments, well-tended parks of strangely colored trees were decorated with talismans while streets never seemed to end!

Malakk clapped her on the back, “Not quite, but you will find the city of Zul’Drak to be as large as any nation, its four tiers carved from mountains over millennia by our ancestors.” With that he strode forward, arms raised high as he embraced the priest and led the crowd in a song.

“They are saying welcome,” Gal’Darah chimed in, motioning for her to follow his hand to star East as he spoke, “Far beyond sight is Gundrak, the city-temple, capital and heart of our empire and it is where your tribe shall be staying as we arrange your new home here, but for now, let us enjoy the parade I think.”

Swallowing, Arctikus tightened her grip on her mount and blinked away the shock and stray tears, ‘This is what we always could have had,’ echoed in her mind.

As she rode forward, bowing and waving to crowd, voice rising high in song as she led her tribe through the streets of Zul’Drak, the totality of their new future truly striking her as she looked upon the proud and healthy people with gleaming tusks and grand homes.

‘This is our future!’