Prologue 3 (Patreon)

The festivities greeting had been equal parts staggering and heartening, in Articus’s mind.

Staggering, for seeing so many trolls, let alone one's so powerful and wealthy was in itself intimidating; such massive apartments, wide streets lined with stone monoliths topped with fires that seemed to burn eternally.

It was, in of itself, intimidating.

But so too was it heartening, for even if it was perhaps rooted in pity or even ignorance of what their seeming acceptance into the empire would bring… To know that they would not be greeted with suspicion and hostility, at least not on the surface was a grand thing.

The children deserved to know such warmth if nothing else.

‘There was still no need for Vejrek to become so flamboyant,’ she had mused, thinking of the tough and sprightly troll doing all but kissing every mountainous Drakkari woman he encountered.

Still, while her fellow tribesman had been stunned it had not been difficult to get swept up in the welcoming even as they hurried through the hustle and bustle of the city. Along the way, Arctikus found herself spying theaters, grounds of well-tended grass and trees for play, monuments, communal cooking halls and more!

But they dared not tarry for long and the journey had continued across the ‘Royal Road’ that cut straight through the heart of the city. It apparently travelled upbroken East, West, North and South across Zul’Drak, with smaller roads and pathways branching off it leading to smaller settlements dotting the empire.

‘Such numbers, such size, how can one manage it all? Even at our peak we could not have matched this,’ Arctikus mused, head tilting towards the cloudy sky, snowfall gently wafting down but somehow never finding the dark stone streets.

She cast a glance to Barafu, the woman had been shuffling closer to her since their next destination had been announced and she looked… ill at ease.

“What troubles you, sister,” Arctikus said, drawing the attention of Malakk and Gal’Darah.

Barafu ducked her head and tightened her hold on the reigns of her elk, “This place is strange to me and the others, Great Mother. I see a land so high no lizard should walk it safely and yet they do. I see snow fall with the delicate touch of an artist so it never obscures our path. I feel the spirits, but they are quiet, humble things.”

Arctikus clicked her tongue and looked towards their hosts, voice rising over the din. “We were told the spirits of this land were of a different breed, but still I do share your confusion, lore tells us only the Zandalari were so blessed by the Loa.”

Malakk’s answer is a sharp, hissing snort of disgust, “Zandalari, pretty pets to the Loa who cannot stand to be outshone.”

Gal’Darah sent them a sympathetic look and added, “More than once, Zul’Drak has fallen into civil war and not all of these times has it been natural, the hands of the God King reach far and jealousy is a most vile thing that can taint even the most holy.”

“That is…” It was treason, it was sinful, and yet Arctikus would not force herself to feel offence in the name of such a distant king. “An interesting stance. I confess to know little of them, my ancestors never even received the token aid the Amani once did.”

“Not surprising, even the mighty Amani were left in the lurch the moment all did not go as planned, or so I hear,” Malakk answered, massive shoulders rolling. “Still, we can answer your questions well enough, though a more… Detailed reading will likely be warranted later, especially for your Shamans.”

Glancing at a wide eyed Barafu, Arcticus nodded, “We would welcome your words, the journey is far from done after all.”

“Not far off now,” Gal’Darah said, glancing across the snowy planes, decorated as they were with temple towns and open forts. 

“We have time,” Malakk said idly after a quick glance at his bodyguards. Slowing down his strides to match their pace, Malakk began grandly, arms open wide as if to embrace his kingdom.

“What you must understand is that, ere the breaking of the world by elven witchery, Northrend went from a merely rough land to a cruel one. Pockets like the Grizzly Hills remained safe havens for the meek, but Storm Peaks, Icecrown, Dragonblight and of course the mountains that would become Zul’Drak were cursed.”

“Not, literally,” he specified, as Barafu looked to speak. “But the spirits became capricious and cruel, seeking dominion and death wherever they could. Our ancestors pleaded for aid, to travel South and were ignored or denied,” he rasped.

“Some, of course, did escape,” Arctikus mused, running a hand along her arm, brushing down the hackled fur.

“Indeed, some did, and I must commend their skill to have avoided an untimely end,” Malakk said genially. “But those of our ancestors that remained learned to struggle against the spirits, not by dealing with them, but by but dueling and driving them off from our safe havens or destroying them for power. This is something the mighty Taunka do as well,” He added.

‘Another people to learn of, if he thinks highly of them,’ Arctikus mused, as Barafu looked stunned.

“You, fought, spirits, you killed them? Would that not have terrible ramifications?” The horror tinging her tone was not subtle.

“In fact it did,” Malakk answered, his tone lyrical rather than ominous or concerned. “For despite founding Gundrak, our people struggled to feed themselves and survive as the spirits were kept at bay, nothing could live, until, well…” He stalled as a black dot appeared in the distance, looming high into the sky.

“Well,” he shrugged helplessly, “To end this long story, I shall merely glance over the discovery of Saronite, the Founding heroes and more to say that, with time… We discovered ways to… Create our own spirits, through blood and blessings from the Loa and a shade of Saronite in the earliest of says.”

“Create… Spirits,” Barafue thought, tongue clicking, “Akin to elementals?”

“Akin, but not the same,” Gal’Darah chimed in, “Blessed as these are by the Loa, these are purified, and thus while born from the broken remnants of dead spirits, or even from our own breath and tears, they could grow strong when given life.”

“It is as he said, the processes vary,” Malakk said with a wave, “But the result is much the same, we birthed new spirits into this world, one’s of even temperament and amicable to fair deals. The fires that burn iron trees for years on end without smoke of ever extinguishing are an example. They keep our streets warm and lit while being fed with no effort of fear of extinguishment.”

“The clouds and winds as well, all of it?” Barafu asked, breathlessly.

“All save the stone we walk upon,” Malakk cheered, “The earth has remained fair and just and thus we honored it even as we reshaped it. But as to the rest, yes, we drove out the evil old spirits into the Storm Peaks and beyond or destroyed them and replaced them with our own creations, refining, strengthening, and improving them over generations. Now the miracle of Zandalar has been recreated on a grand scale, not through Loa charity, but our own efforts as much as the Loa.”

‘I can see why the Zandalari call them arrogant, and yet,’ Arctikus cast her gaze around at the towering cities in the distance, the controlled weather and she felt a shiver of both excitement and wariness at the power the Drakkari held.

However, before Barafu could ask anything else, Arctikus found herself eyeing a great edifice of black stone in the distance as the city’s buildings began to fade away into the delicately snow-capped planes.

‘Its taller than I imagined,’ she mused, troll like visages carved in gargantuan stone sat atop sharply angled, squared off ornamentation, sitting atop level after level of an ever-widening tower. That itself sat on a raised dais as large as any city, surrounded by ornate pillared walls., all adorned with rich paintings and jewels. Vibrant trees breaking from the snowy planes.

She looked to Malakk and then back to the distance structure, “I fear I may be wrong. But is what I see in the distance Gundrak?”

Malakk’s laugh was booming but not unfriendly, or more he did not mean it to be unfriendly she thought. “Not at all Great Mother, laid before you is the Altar of Har’Koa the leopard. If we were to walk across Zul’Drak it would take us days before we would arrive in Gundrak.”

Arching her brow at the king, she said, “Your words imply we shall be taking some other means?”

Malakk’s chest swelled as he motioned towards the planes, “Zul’Drak is far too large of a place for people to simple walk everywhere without spending their entire lives cloistered within a few hexagons of lands. Thus, we have other means of travelling the kingdom, especially across large swathes of territory that are not so reliant on Wagonway, howdah.”

“And those means are?” She pressed, drawing a sort of bemused blink from the king.

Thankfully Malaka'raz cut in, “A manifold of ways, Great Mother. Across the Aqueducts you will find Narrowboats ferrying supplies as well as blessed water. Between the tiers we have newly build gondola,” He saw her confusion and added, “Metal boxes run along wires pushed and pulled by spirits in an eternal dance.”

“So, we shall be taking one of these, Godola?” Barafu asked, testing the word out with a click of her fangs and tongue.

“Actually,” Malakk added, sounding speculative, “it shall be the Cable_railway, we have smaller one’s within cities, push and pulled much like the Gondola, but I have seen fit to try and make the journey to the capital efficient, and so running beneath the earth are great car of metal that shall carry us home.”

“I… See,” Articus said slowly, trying to put their words into pictures but finding her imagination failing. “Are these akin to the Dwarves… Oh what did they call the?” A scowl spreading across her face. “Mine carts? Powered by their hands?”

Malakk and Malaka'raz sent one another a bemused look before the Frost King spoke, “Not quite Great Mother, though I know some are fiddling with such an idea, you must share what you know if it if you should meet a subject of the Juj’tulak.” His ears twitched and he added, “I am surprised you have not heard of such things?”

“We are quite diminished,” She said slowly, tone brushing against chastising and the king nodded, ducking his head.

“Of course, I apologize for my presumption Great Mother.”

“We hear precious little from our Southern cousins,” Gal’Darah cut in swiftly, “It leaves us rather ill prepared to know what is known only to us and only to you.”

Her answer was a low click and a nod, that seemed to assuage the Grand Prophets gaze as the looming temple and its surrounding towers cast shadows across their party. Across the sparse grounds, large leopards prowled freely as any ram and trolls in the hundreds strode across the clean-cut stone streets, while a host in leopard print robes marched towards them.

They were quick to welcome their Prophet, racing ahead on his magnificent leopard mount and turning to face them as they approached at a more leisurely place.

“Frost King Malakk, honored kin, Great Mother Arctikus, I Prophet Loque’Koa of Har’Koa’s majesty do welcome you to her temple town and invite you across our threshold to warm meals and comfortable lodging!”

“That would be most welcome my friend,” Malakk cheered.

Offering a sharp salute from atop her mount, Arctikus added, “We are most humbled by your generosity holy one, I do hope we shall not stretch your supplies.” She had seen little in the ways of prey to hunt or fields to tend, despite outcroppings of trees and lakes that refused to freeze over, all of them were contained in neat patterns of stone, sacred perhaps she wondered.

The prophet brushed back his white mohawk and grinned, “Worry not Great Mother, for Har’koa’s a pack loving goddess, who would never turn kin out in the cold. Three levels of the temple, usually held for festival and pilgrims shall house you and your kin this night and you shall enjoy the bounty of Zul’Drak’s food banks!” 

He glanced back at the temple with a pleased grin, something rustled on the edges of her senses before he spoke, “I am sure the young one’s will enjoy the cubs, a new generation of litters was born this very week, so we are all in fine spirits. Please, follow me, honored guests!”

_______________________________________________________________________

The temple was grand in size and scope and yet apparently among the humblest of its kin, Har'Koa preferring expansive wilds to monuments of stone. Its high walls and broad chambers, with smoke-less flames casting light from enchanted cradles that warmed the dark stone with welcome ease.

Grand tapestries of leather, woven silk, cloth, and bark adorned the walls, standing just as proud as glinting weapons, jewels, and carved totems. Comfortable pillows and deep lounges were quickly made home upon as communal cooking pits flared to life and filled the chambers with an array of scents, from hearty meats to tangy spices.

As expected, the children and the cubs took to each other with the ease flames did to oiled leaves, all under the watchful eye of contented looking sabers and doting priests.

Arctikus’s own people contributed to the cooking where they could, the few remaining skilled chefs among them eager to both learn and give something back, while others found themselves rivetted by priestly story tellers.

Arctikus herself was curious as to how the tale of Din'Zal, They Who Walk Without Fear would end, but she had other matters to attend to. Barafu had managed to link with Quetz’Lith again, which implicitly invited her into the Frost King’s circle of advisors. Not that the leader of the Sky Shriekers seemed terribly interested in the discussion, instead leaning back against plus pillows, and enjoying the Hookah on the low, ornate table they gathered around.

Barafu, however seemed to be focused entirely on the discussion taking place and looking distinctly disquieted in her own subtle way.

“Grik'nir,” She said to the hefty shaman trailing at her back, “Keep an eye on the family, I must tend to this.”

“As you wish, Great Mother,” he answered with a very Drakkari like salute. Verjek and Battok sent her confused glances as she strode away from her kin, but a simple flick of her hand was enough for them to return to watching over their fellows.

As she approached, she could hear Prophet Loque’Koa speaking emphatically to the Frost King. “I am merely thinking, thinking that is, that Zul’Drak and all her glory is a world unto itself. Should we leave it so easily, and travel so far to lands not our own?”

Seeing an empty space, around her size near Barafu and Chieftan Rageclaw; the latter happily sitting on a pillow and tapping their legs as if overflowing with energy, she sat, a quiet greeting coming from the Wolvar which she bowed her head to.

“You presume much, Prophet Loque’Koa,” countered Gal’Darah with a sharp tilt to his tone.

“I try to presume little, Gran Prophet, but I am merely questioning the necessity of marching to war against these ‘Dwarves’,” Said the Leopard Priest and Arctikus wanted to break stone on her fangs!

“Tap table,” Rageclaw whispered, so low it was an almost keening whine, but Arctikus did so, jagged nail clacking against the stone and Malakk sent her a nod, before taking a puff on the Hookah.

“If I may, honorable Prophet,” She said slowly, hauntingly, ensuring she could speak without interruption, “What would you do if it were your home that suffered such assaults?”

“A fair point, Great Mother,” he ducked his head, leopard cowl bobbing, “And yet, rather my point, as such a thing simply cannot happen in Zul’Drak. Do we not invite danger by seeking bloodshed?”

Malakk let out a low, amused rumble, scented smoke like tingling sweetness spilling from his maw in a wave of blue tinged smoke, “Bold of you to assume my future proclamations.”

That brought a start to the table, as all but Gal'Darah stared in some degree of restrained shock.

“Frost King Malakk,” she murmured, Loque’Koa’s questioning tone mere seconds after her own.

Malakk held up a single, large hand, “I have promised the Frostmane tribe a home, and a measure of justice, but,” he added sharply. “That I can promise as Frost King because they are my subjects who were done wrong. That does not however mean I can bald facedly declare war, not without more details, not without conferring with my chief advisors and while Gal’Darah is present Warlord Zol’Maz is not.” 

He tapped a ringed finger against the table, leaning forward on the item he barely fit under, “Maybe we shall need not use force at all to drag reparations out of these Dwarves.”

Arctikus held back her scoff, Barafu did not, earning a smirk from Quetz’Lith who waved, “The pretty magus disagrees.”

“As she has a right to, given the nature of this matter,” Malakk said gamely. “And yet, I will not declare war so brazenly as without calling this empires overseers’ and my advisors together, that we might debate the matter. And I most certainly will not discount resolving this peacefully.”

Arctikus shuddered and it must have shown because he hastily added.

“I do not mean to disrespect your tribes suffering, Great Mother and noble Barafu. However, it may be proven that a simple show of force is enough to make these Dwarves see the error of their ways and ensure they offer you reparations.”

“How can one repay blood without blood?” She asked quietly.

Malakk sent a glance to Rageclaw who clacked their claws along the table, “In trade, travel my tribe can be endangered. Death is old companion. Sometimes vengeance is needed, in others, only discourse. But if blood is shed when words suffice, that blood was wasted.”

“So, you to council peace, then?” Loque’Koa asked, sounding pleased, only to earn a guttural growl.

“I counsel no such thing," Rageclaw's fangs clacked together. "We know too little. Need to talk more. Learn more. Plans made in hasty ignorance are doomed.”

Before the prophet could rear up in counter as he looked ready to, Malakk clapped his hand om the table, “A solution will not be found at this table on this night. Your concerns have been heard, Prophet Loque’Koa, but so too must the Great Mother be heeded, as will my servants and my advisors across the Empire. But know I shall not let the suffering of the Frostmane be ignored,” he stressed.

Taking another puff of the Hookah, the Frost King pressed on, “Now, let us turn to more joyful things. On the morrow, we shall be making for Gundrak. However, mornings are times for warm surroundings and comfortable beds, especially with the children having been put through so much. Thus, if it would be welcomed, I would seek to go on my hunt in the Hara Forest and would invite the Great Mother and any others who wish to attend to join me.”

Biting back bile and bitter tones, Arctikus bowed her shoulders in gratitude, “I would be most honored, Frost King Malakk, to join you on this hunt.”

_________________________________________________________________________

The morning air was familiarly crisp and chill, it seemed even manageable spirits couldn’t quite offset the cold in the air, but it did little to slow any among their hunting party down.

Beyond herself and Malakk, his personal bodyguards were accompanying them, along with Verjek and Quetz’Lith who had led their procession of flying bats into the Hara Forest.

As with most things in Zul’Drak it was somewhat artificial, at least on the outside. Situated some ways North of the aqueduct, the fields of Drakkari industry could be seen everywhere. Be it from eternally flat landscape, the long intertwining roads to the massive store houses of food and wares, or the surrounding small settlements they had passed over.

Even the forest was managed.

For all the looming trees of blistering blue and almost pink tinged red leaves with uniformly greyed and dark bark, lined with spikes, coiling vines and thorny bushes loomed like something ancient and primeval…

It was all contained in a neat hexagon, larger than village, so large she could not see the other side of it, and yet the plants had not even attempted to grow passed the runic, patterned boundary and the massive monolithic markers that stood tall at each pointed tip.

There had been trees outside of course, but they had been widely spread, carefully managed and easy to walk and build homes between. This place had the feel of what Arcticus imagined a jungle from the old stories might be like.

Articus brushed her free hand over a troll-head shaped totem, its eyes glowing with a dark green metal and gently pulsing runes and found it warm to touch, and faintly slick.

“These control the weather then?” She asked, drawing her attention back to the spread out hunting party, her spear still gripped tightly in hand.

“Aye,” Bith’Sa said, flicking at her furred robes, “They draw in the moisture and then warm it and the land to make it a might bit humid.”

Kutube'sa scoffed, “You want humid? Try the Drak'Sotra Fields, idols ten times that size billowing steam into the air and making it muggy as a sweaty…” She sent the fiery troll a look and he chuckled, “Well you get this one's message, yes?”

“Great Mother, a Rok,” Verjek whispered, pulling down his spyglass.

“Oh, good eye,” Malakk chuckled, “You want the kill?”

Verjek sent her an almost pleading look and Arcticus thought to click her tongue before sending him a nod.

The young hunter, festooned in dark leathers that let him blend into the woods fell into a throwing stance and whistled.

The Rok, a tall, sharp, and powerfully built bird cawed and flared its wings, tilting to fly North, but as it beats its wings once and took off-

Verjek let loose his spear, knowing full well where his quarry was aiming, now knowing the timing of the flaps and the spear struck true, piercing right through the mighty birds’ neck, nailing it to a tree.

Verjek was too well practiced to cheer, but he did let out a pleased hiss, pumping his fists close to his chest and striking one in pride and glee.

“Quite a throw,” Quetz’Lith said from her tree top perch, “You used to such quiet hunting then?”

Verjek slapped his chest, “Back home I could nail a ram from a Dwarven herd without the ankle biters even seeing the glint of steel, let alone hearing it.”

“Impressive,” Malakk hummed as they let Verjek gather his kill and place it in a in a whicker basket.

As he worked, the party remained on guard, relatively speaking, at least, mostly just keeping a hand on their weapons and half watching the tangled, overgrown forest.

Malakk was lifting up a thick sheet of vines with his foot, “The beasties are lured here, as they are either stupider or more vicious than the tamer fair that we let roam the lands outside. Its why they are used for ritualistic hunting, you see.”

“I do see,” Arctikus answered seriously, but before she could probe the Frost King on the last nights discussion, he clapped his knee and grinned widely.

“Well, I’ll be, Icethorn out here? Lucky me,” He sang song, letting Kutube'sa use his massive broad sword to hold back the bush as he knelt near an icy, thorny vine that curled in on itself sprouting from the ground.

As he revealed a trowel and a delicate looking instrument which he used to gently pierce the ground around the plant, Artikus spoke, brow arched.

“I did not know you had studied the ways of herb and concoction?”

Malakk let out a keening hum, head rocking from side to side, even as steady hands guided a trowel into the earth. “I would say compared to the true masters of potions and magic I am but a bumbling novice.”

With the ground suitably loosened he prepared a carrying kit and continued to speak. “I studied the art under the tutelage of a wise Drakkari_Oracle in my youth and thanks to her tutelage I can still ritualize some rather worthwhile physical enchantments. However...”

He freed the plant, a look of intense concentration on his face as he did so before continuing, “However, I can do little else, and know full well any Hexxar worth their name surpasses me in every way. Still, I can follow a conversation on the matter well enough.”

“And knows enough to tell if he’s been poisoned,” Quetz’Lith chuckled, throwing back a sip of her canteen.

“You tried,” Verjek gasped, while Arcticus’s gaze fell on Malakks guards who sent the woman a sour look.

If she noticed, she either did not care or didn’t show it, lackadaisical on her chosen branch, “I did, awhile ago now, and just to see how damned brazen the would be king might be.”

“We would have cut you up for the antidote,” Kutube'sa said, fangs clicking.

“Now, now, such grudges should be like water, flowing through an aqueduct and out of mind,” Malakk said, rising to his feet with a lazy stretch.

Tapping her spear on the dull, reddish grass, Arctikus spoke, “With talk of grudges, Frost King Malakk; wile I do not wish to sound ungrateful, I hoped we could discuss-”

“Why I was so ambivalent about the prospect of war?” He cut in, smirking, as he motioned for them to follow, keeping his voice low.

“I take it you desire to return to your taken home, drive a spear through the heart of every soldier who forced you out and behead the leaders before the point of your fallen kin for all to see, so that everyone knows that actions, have consequences.”

Arcticus forced a relaxed roll to her shoulders, “Yes…”

“Fair, and just,” Malakk said lightly, pushing passed a thick branch.

“Then why- May I ask,” Verjek cut in haltingly, fingers running nervously along the whicker basket.

“Let me answer your question with one of my own,” He glanced back, “Tell me, how would you define passion?”

Verjek shrugged, “Something one cares about a great deal and relishes?”

Malakk’s gaze fell to her and Arcticus frowned, before she answered, “I think, passion is what drives us, motivates us… It is what matters to us in our core and it buoys our spirits through trials and tribulations.”

“Respectable perspective, I do not disagree, and yet I would offer my own,” Malakk said, gaze rising to the forest canopy. “Passions can be as you said, a strong desire, or a quiet thing that suffuses us through life and gives us meaning and will. But to me, passions are more… Dominant than that, they are rare and pure things that go beyond the day-to-day business of living and can lead one to greatness or… Utter disaster.”

Motioning for them to crouch he pressed on, “I too am a child of war, we all are, to an extent,” Malakk said, usual cheer dimmed. “War can sound like a small thing for one in my position, at the head of a mighty empire and resplendent legions of mighty hosts. I have seen and lived the cost of war, not one so dire as yourself, but enough to see the mark it leaves on the victors as well as the defeated.”

Arctikus’s fangs clacked, “Please, reach your point, Frost King Malakk.”

Despite her manner, the troll simply nodded, “The barbarian warrior in me roars at the injustice you face and would relish the chance to join you at the forefront of our legions and grind your foe to dust. But.” he said sharply, “I am Frost King Malakk of the Drakkari Empire, I have to be more than my or anyone else’s passions, no matter how deep or justified.”

He looked back upon her grimly, “The era of tyrants is over, I cannot, will not lead my people into war without first consulting them, without first seeing if I can spare the loss of more of my subjects’ lives. Because that is the passion of a monarch, and before I am Malakk, I am the Frost King; but fear not, your people will be protected and I will support you to the hilt, Great Mother.”

He turned his attention to the lake before them and grinned, “Now, let us enjoy the hunt,” He revealed a golden ‘egg’ of ice that hummed with magic, “A strength potion frozen and shaped. Think if I put some of that Furbolg honey concoction on it and throw, I can get it into the polar bears mouth?”

“You want to make it stronger?” Verjek asked, gaping as he looked at the mass of hulking muscle and claws, thick pelt like armor as it had so easily broken the branches of Iron Trees in its passage.

“They’re only eight feet, they never want to fight me properly,” Malakk sighed, toying with the magical item that to Arctikus’s mind should have been a rarity, rather than a novelty to make a hunt more fun.

“I bet you, you cannot make the shot,” Quetz’Lith smirked, from her tree side vantage point.

“I will if you don’t scare it off,” Malakk said, in a tone that told her this was a familiar exchange.

Arctikus stayed back and watched, not contented, but aware pressing further would only weaken her position.

Thus, she instead focused on enjoying the hunt as well as she could an ended up snagging a rather fetching leopard skin for her efforts before the morning was over.

Finally, Malakk declared, “Come, we’d best make haste to the temple if we wish to wash up before leaving for Gundrak. The cable railway awaits, and I am eager to hear your thoughts on it?”

“I will be sure to share them,” Arctikus said arching her brow. What else did he think could surprise her at this point?

_________________________________________________________________________

Breakfast was a hearty affair, and as was becoming custom, the children ate until they could barely move, thought fortunately not to the point of sickness.

A priest had walked Arctikus through the appropriate rituals for skinning her kill and offering back the heart and mind to its mother that its spirit might rest with her and be reborn.

Then, a mere hour later, with new cloak draped over her shoulders, Arctikus joined Malakk at the head of their procession from the temple and… Back into the city.

More specifically, he led them towards a large stone structure that on the surface appeared to be little more than a large auditorium with no stage, seats, decorations, food were all present. But all they surrounded was a large stairwell that led into the earth.

What greeted them down below was hard to describe, a grand chamber, great in scale and length, lit up by humming crystals of lavender magic, brightening the dull but intricate stonework.

The massive, platform as Malakk called it sat alongside a sharp dip, like the aqueducts, but no water flowed and it led into a great tunnel, while long ropes of metal ran along rows of steel bolted to the ground.

In the distance she could hear a faint clicking, below her she could see the cable turning and at the cables base she could see spirits of water intertwined in a dance that moved the circlet that drove the cable and….

“Frost King Malakk, what is this?” She intoned, as the approaching sound grew louder.

“This, my friend, is a new invocation, the Cable Railway,” He intoned proudly, “A creation of my Juj’tulak, the great artisans of Zul’Drak.”

The sound was growing louder, and, in the distance, she could see it.

A gargantuan carriage of steel rolling down the tunnel towards them, looming larger than any Dwarven tanks or tower, the sharp angled frame and carved walls making it resemble a moving fortress.

“My Empire is too large and too populace for the people to remain locked in singular cities all their lives, not if I want it to be truly united and honestly efficient. So, just like the Aqueducts and the gondola, only on a grander scale, hundreds of trolls a carriage and driven by the ever fed and ever dancing spirits of water!”

The spirts grew quiet and the massive carriage lolled to a stop before them, each one easily twice the size of any troll present and she could see stairs within as large iron tree doors were pulled aside by guards who bowed deferentially.

“Frostmane of the Dakari Empire, Gundrak beckons and your chariot awaits, follow me aboard!” Cheered the Frost King, striding forward and across the slim divide in grand easy steps, beckoning for them to follow.

Soon enough they had found seats, strong and smooth, to the last and their ‘carriage’ began to thrum as the spirits turned and the cabled flowed, drawing them along the seemingly endless tunnel towards Gundrak.

Towards, salvation.
______________________________
NOTES:

So this harkens the end of the Prologue, after this there shall be a short interlude to establish a time skip, followed by the beginning of the first major story arc.

Some world building info: 

In terms of societal structure and function, I was heavily inspired by the Inkan Empire, for the Drakkari, hence work taxes and food store houses, ETC. 

Also I should note, the Drakkari are pretty biased against the Zandalari, and via versa, so neither side should really be trusted in their opinion on the other.

Some great, though be it not entirely accurate, pics of Zul'Drak by an official artist. (In many ways they kinda give me the vibe of the Frostmane nation before the Dwarves)

The Juj’tulak is the title granted to the three greatest engineers/builders/crafters of the empire, who nominally oversee their brethren and personally attend to Malakk's projects. 

Aside, but a good example of what Zul'Drak looks like for the average person, 'miniature cos game', can be seen here and here. Its depressingly hard to get a good picture of Zul'Drak outside the top tier cos so much was in war/collapse when we got there so it didn't like like it should. I'd have loved to see Jintha'kalar before the Scourge for instance.

The cable railways are a flourish I'll admit, but I think a well made one, given the design of Zul'Drak and the necessities of navigation. I would note there Drakkari don't use steam or engines or anything like that; its literally a series of cables connected to a turning windmill like structure, pushed along by some water spirits that get offerings to do the spinning.

A good comparison, living standards wise, would be places like Dalaran or Silvermoon. Notice how they have enchanted brooms and the like running around? Drakkari (& Zandalari) have similar stuff, just via spirits. Also, while not strictly canon (Yet) A fun comparison/insight to how common Drakkari live would be to Howls Moving Castle, with a little Fire Spirit ever burning and being part of the home and family, its hearth you might say.

The nature of the spirits in Zul'Drak is inspired by a mixture between canon, the Travelogue and my own conceptions. Basically, we know Northrend has fairly hostile spirits in most places, frozen mountains aren't easy places to live at the best of times, but the Drakkari have a city the size of a country and places like the Drak'Sotra fields that are massive and also defy the environment. We also see clear roadways despite the snow and other stuff mentioned. Thus the idea was born that the essence of defeat spirits was given new and less temperamental life through a myriad of ways and this along with how the Drakkari built Zul'Drak informs a lot about how they interact with the world.