War of the Dead: Part 1 (The Winds of War Howl) (Patreon)

With the Frostmane settled into their guest quarters, Malakk finds himself caught between old advisors and new, obligation and honor as he seeks a means to fulfill his every duty as an honorable king.

Malakk rarely handled his kingly duties in his throne room, lest it was an emergency, a feast, or he was receiving a guest. 

Today was no different.

Rather than hearing his advisors in the grand and ornate throne room with flowing water running in carved streams and reclining in a throne as his muscles grew slack and weak… 

He was instead sitting upon a thick strip of hide that adorned a solid, slim bench, heavy steel weights sitting around him as he looked over at the wide-open center of his training hall.

Great Mother Arctikus had been sparring with Kutube'sa, the Frost Troll proving a fair sparring partner for Malakk’s fiery elite guard, her new spear striking against his burning blade to the sounds of crackling ice and hissing flames.

His other advisors had not remained idle, some meditating or tending to their bodies own needs, but always conversation was free flowing between them as energy spent and blood rushing through veins warmed the soul as it did the body. 

The mood had been amicable, even pleasant. But as muscles grew weary and the da grew longer, most turned to talk alone; the previous calm and friendly air of the brightly lit stone chamber fading.

“I must protest this suggestion, Frost King Malakk,” Arctikus insisted, tone frantic, “The Dwarves and their allies cannot be trusted!”

“You would have us go to war without even a declaration?” Zol'Maz ground out from his own work bench.

“I would not throw a crew of trolls into the hands of butchers,” she countered, squeezing her empty clay cup so hard, hairline fracture were beginning to crack along the smoothly patterned surface.

Zol'Mas scoffed, "Al the more reason to leave the South to them, we should not send our own into the maw of our enemy."

Gal'darah clicked his tongue from the mat upon which he had been meditating, “You speak in fear Zol’Maz, but,” he added hastily. “Entering a war without the proper conduct is a bad omen though to be sure.”

Quetz’Lith pushed herself from the wall, her sharp tone echoing; as was to be expected for the leader of his air forces, who often needed to shout her commands. “The humans and Dwarves are mighty foes, by announcing ourselves we put them on guard and my soldiers would pay the price but move subtly and we can up-end them.”

Malakk sent half a glance to Moorabi, his old friend had been feigning sleep since Bith’Sa had up-ended him in a sparring match, but the white furred troll could not cloak his interest in the discourse for long. 

Rolling to sit up, the prophet of Mam'toth picked up his fallen practice daggers, spinning them between his fingers, “I’m not the most inclined to agree with Quetz’Lith on anything but I think she and the Great Mother speak some wisdom. These Southern folks may not share our sensibilities, and if nothing else they cannot be weak, I am thinking.”

“So, you agree then?” Arctikus said, a flash of relief washing over her features.

Moorabi clicked his tongue, “Mostly, but…” His gaze shifted to Malakk who sat up straighter, as his friend continued. “We have had some success, as well as some failures in the past with diplomacy and through a Speaker we may avoid a war… Thus, I am caught between dual considerations,” He finished with a lazy shrug.

Just as it looked like his advisors were going to start speaking over each other, Malakk cut in, stern but gentle, “I think you are all making fair points.”

Arctikus looked to him imploringly “My liege, you said I was to be an advisor, then please heed me, no good will come of speaking with the Alliance.”

“You are seen and heard, Great Mother and I have not yet made a decision,” he held out one hand to his right. “If we are to be honorable and there is a chance to avoid a war, then naturally some talk is needed, however,” he held out his left hand. “This Alliance is hardly a friend to trolls and may use this as a chance to brace against us, bringing needless death to the Drakkari. Much depends on their reaction which we cannot wholly predict.”

“I can,” Arctikus said, “And I can assure you, whatever crew you send to them will be massacred on sight.”

Malakk frowned, “It is a risk and rather unfair to order my subjects into danger like that, yet I am sorry, Great Mother, some part of me still questions.”

That was when Malaka'raz signaled to speak, his delicate fingers dancing across his stave in a rhythmic, tap, tap, tap. 

Malakk nodded, listening intently, as his Speaker said. “If this one may, I would volunteer myself for this mission. I would take only a small guard, themselves volunteers, and arrive under the banner of truce. At first merely to give greetings from one king to another, and with that, use it as a chance to broach a… diplomatic, resolution to this bloodshed that will ensure no other trolls need die for justice to be done.”

“Blood can only be repaid in blood,” Malakk countered, knowing he needed to ply all angles, “But I would not see us rush into war against such a foe carelessly either, and much depends on their honor… Or lack there-of,” He conceded with a look to Arctkus.

“If they prove as ruthless as the Great Mother says, then so long as the Speaker watches his tongue, we may not lose the element of surprise shoukd it come to war,” Quen’Lith intoned.

“So mercenary,” Kutube'sa muttered.

Malakk ignored their minor feuding, tilting his head to Malaka'raz he spoke softly, “I would not order you to go, in fact I would rather go myself.”

“As your speaker I am your voice,” Malaka'raz thumped his chest, “Allow me to go with but a few, we will be careful all the while and leave if pressed. Still,” He chuckled, “As I am a Speaker, I doubt they would dare harm me.”

“I would not be so sure of that,” Arctikus said, looking Malakk dead in the eye, “But I will not try to give orders to brave Malaka'raz, Speaker of the Frost King.”

“I thank you,” he said, “if I could talk with your scholars and scouts regarding their tongue?”

“I will arrange it,” she said tightly.

“Very well then,” Malakk said, slapping his knees as he rose to his feet, stretching as he did so. “The matter is settled for now, though I’ll let you debate it as you please while preparations are made. Now, let us sojourn to the sauna and turn our attention to other matters. Such as Frostmane Temple-Compound.”

He waved his hands towards the North-West as they strode from the chamber, “I was thinking it best be across from Zol'Heb, in the foothills, it would be similar to your traditional home and finally even up the Topmost Tier.”

With that the conversation turned to more mundane fair, securing supplies, the construction style, and the creation of new spirits to be housed within the temple and surrounding homes.

It was pleasant, it was comfortable, it was not to last.

_______________________________________________________

Terenas_Menethil was have a trying if productive day. For the first time in what felt like weeks he had not only managed to summon the entire Alliance council together, but so far not one argument had broken out.

Though not for lack of trying and perhaps that luck was merely because the internment camps and taxes had not come up yet?

Whatever the case, he appreciated the less raucous din, as kings and diplomats talked in minutia of trade, travel, and construction plans. All the while gentle golden light streamed in from the grand windows to shine down upon the oaken oval table.

‘The High Elven and Wildhammer representative remain cagey though, it has been a trial keeping the borders so much as open, the threat of the dragons holds them to us for now, but with the loss of the expedition…’ He dismissed the thought as he heard the clapping of steel on stone and glanced towards a servant passing him a scroll and scurrying away.

His gaze turned to the parchment and his brow furrowed, the conversation grew quiet and he waved his hand, “Enter, Royal Interrogator Wroth.” The silence grew deafening as his guards opened the door to reveal a lean, smartly dressed man with smooth dark hair and soft features, but as was to be expected for a man often dubbed ‘High torturer’  in back rooms and alleys. The mere gait of his step and subtle motions of his eyes elicited discomfort and discontent.

“I thank you for permitting me entrance, my great king,” the man said, kneeling before him.

“It struck me as relevant, given you thought to interrupt this meeting, what has rattled you so?” he asked, offering an apologetic smile to those across the room at the interruption.

“Please forgive me my liege, but a new prisoner has left me… Unsure of how to proceed…” the man said, his hair obscuring his features.

“Get to the point man, before we die of old age!” Genn snapped.

Teneranas waved Wroth on and the man began to speak, his tone growing clearer and more clipped, even as his expression grew more furrowed in reflection of Teranas’s own.

“A ship of strange design was seen landing on the coast, some ways away from the docks of North-Port. The local garrison sent forth knights and managed to track down those who had disembarked and discovered several trolls.”

The elven ambassador hissed, “You expect me to believe the Amani bypassed our navy?”

“No, no, honored representative, I can assure you that is not what happened,” Wroth said, idly motioning to the oversized and ornate dagger on his hip.

“Why do some captured savages warrant our attention?” Trollbane muttered, looking bored as he leaned on his meaty fist.

“They claimed to have come here not to raid or attack, but to treat with my liege and the Alliance-”

“Absurd! After what they did to our lands!? I demand their execution at once!” The High elf roared.

“Hear, hear,” Genn murmured, “This should have been taken of straight away; what did the trolls spook you with their hoodoo magic?”

“May-haps if our honored allies would let him finish speaking, we would learn more,” Teranes said gently.

“I must correct one thing, my liege, these trolls were not of the forests, but from the north,” Wroth said.

This time it was Muradin who spoke up, spitting, “More Frost Trolls? We just dealt with the last batch of those barbarians a year back!?” 

“That, ah, is actually why I thought this was of note, your grace,” Wroth said. Looking to Teranes he added, “They claimed to be representatives of one, Frost King Malakk, ruler of the Drakkari Empire and allies of the Frostmane Tribe. They wish to discuss the returning of the tribes land to them or reparations for harm done to the-”

“This is absurd, those wretches killed my brother’s wife, they are savages who do nothing but steal and pilfer, no better than animals!” Muradin roared.

“And to try and speak to us like equals, the gall of these mongrels,” the High Elven representative murmured, “Why not just kill them and be done with it? I doubt these “Drakkari” are anything of note.”

Wroth gulped, “Well, honored one’s, you see, they are… Rather a bit bigger than even the Forest Trolls, I’d compare some to large Ogres, covered in thick fur like wolves, and where most trolls look, well, shabby at best.” He held up the richly patterned and gem studded dagger, “These one wore fine armor and robes of gold, thus I thought they may be more, ah, dangerous than the usual beasts.”

Teranas hummed in thought, tapping his chair, “I take it you interrogated them?”

“Yes, my liege, they seemed quite offended and implied their king would take to it poorly if they were “Further mistreated” as they put it.”

“Threatening folk, how typical of a troll,” Falstad murmured, somehow drawing the first genuine smile from the high elven diplomatic Teranas had seen all day.

“Did they commit horrors upon our people, or those sent to apprehend them?” Teranas asked, already feeling discontent.

“Not as far as I am aware.”

Several voices rose.

“You cannot mean to treat with them!”

“They are animals!”

“The only reason we didn’t wipe them out is because the High Elves won’t let us!”

“You only want to spy on us, Greymane!”

“My friends, please, enough, I was simply seeking all the pertinent information,” Teranas called.

A gentle cough hit his ears and he glanced to Lord Prestor, “You wish to speak lad?” 

“If it pleases my king, I may have some insights into these Drakkari, as traders from my fiefdom went to the North some years ago seeking wealth and came back with much to say of these ‘Drakkari’ Ice Trolls.” The normally gentle man looked haunted and near vicious for but a flash.

“The Drakkari are a feuding tribal society with many self-proclaimed kings. They are greedy and savage beyond compared, even other trolls hate them. They love bloodshed but fear those with great power; if they have come to make demands of you it is a sign of your strength and not their honor. As I see it, the only way to make them understand whose land this is, would be a… Greater, show of force than what they have presented you with.”

“You mean for me to execute their diplomat then?” Teranes said evenly.

Prestor bowed, as several murmurs to the effect of, “Finally some sense” rang out across the room.

“The Drakkari sent you one who speaks with their kings voice, by striking him down you show you do not fear their king, but he will fear you, or so it was rumored,” Prestor said.

Those who had already been calling for the matter to be done with were further emboldened by the man’s stance, and Terenes could see the brewing of excuses for more reasons to fight and chastise were arising.

He glanced at Daelin, Wyrnn and Antonidas who all shrugged and bowed their heads in acquiescence to his leadership and Teranas sighed.

“It is not in my nature to spill blood without having been struck, but it appears the trolls came her to lay claim to land that is not their own, cite grievances not theirs to bear and seek payment from those they had made to suffer. Now that this has been established and the Alliance council is certainly, vocally in agreement, I will support the execution order for the kings stand in.”

“What of the other trolls?” the high elf asked with a none too subtle scowl.

“Corpses cannot carry messages, my friend,” Teranes said gently.

“Besides, by slaying their ‘king’ and leaving his guards alive the message will be stronger, you fear nothing, while he did not even appear before you, a wise decision my liege,” Prestor said.

“Then let the matter be done with?” Terenas said, waiting for anyone else to debate him.

Seeing all accenting with a nod he turned to Wroth, “Finish the execution efficiently and be done with it. Take extra guards with you if need be, but I want them out of our lands by the next sunrise.”

“As you will it my king,” he said eagerly, before disappearing out the door.

Watching him go, Terenas did not let the discordant sensations flickering through his mind show on his features,. Instead smiling and returning his attention to the council. “Now then, my friends, I believe we were discussing the tram system?”

________________________________________

Malaka'raz could feel it coming.

‘This will be remembered. It will be understood.’

He uttered words of power, shadow, and blood swirling, his nails inscribing sigils into his skin.

“Take heart,” he said, looking to his guards, “You performed your duties with honor, and have done your liege proud.”

“But-”

I-”

“I am the voice of his majesty. What I say is truth above all others,” Malaka'raz cut off.

Then the stomping grew closer, and guards began pouring into the room, led by the too pleased looking Wroth, a vicious little man without honor or worth.

The human gestured to Malaka'raz’s guards, “You two will be carrying a message home to your barbarian king. This land, all of it, is Alliance land, and we will not broke your savages demands or incursions upon it.”

Angry snarls and bloody curses spilled from his guard’s lips.

“I am to die then,” Malaka'raz cut in.

“I am afraid so,” Wroth said cheerfully, “we believe it will convey that we do not fear your master.”

Malaka'raz looked up from where he inscribed the last scrap of holy text into his flesh and smirked, “You should though.”

His gaze burned into the petty little man and Malaka'raz took heart in seeing him lurch back and yelp, “Kill him, get it done, now!”

His guards thrashed against their chains and cages, knights and mages keeping them from breaking through as the knights closed in around him.

“My king will know this, and he will never forgive it.”

That was a promise.

One made in blood.

_________________

The throne room, usually warm and even lively was cold and near empty.

Malakk sat alone save for his bodyguards, chin heavily resting on his hand as he watched Malaka'raz’s guards slink before him, heads low, locked in anguished frowns as they placed an ornate stone container before him.

“Let me see him…” He uttered, mist escaping his maw.

They bowed their heads and obediently removed the lid.

Malakk forced himself to his feet and marched towards the container, hands coming to rest along the sharp edges as he looked within to see his speakers head resting upon his stomach, eyes empty, his skin taught and bones stiff.

Malakk did not wallow, or gasp or make a sound. He just reached down and gently laid a hand upon his friends’ body and whispered, “Raka-Zen.” 

In a burst, emotions washed over him, pain, blood, fear, confusion, anguish, utter rage, and a quiet sort of confidence born in a form of resignation to his fate and a promise he knew would be fulfilled.

He saw faces flash, he heard the words, he saw the blades swing, every sensation searing its way into his mind and memories until finally with a final glint of steel.

It was over.

Malakk draw his hand away, chest sinking deep as he took in a deep breath and sighed.

The guards threw themselves to the floor, “We failed, Frost King Malakk, we-”

“Enough.”

They looked up to him and he spoke, “You did your duty, obeyed my voice and heeded Malaka'raz’s words at every turn, you are not at fault for the actions of others.”

He turned to his guards, “Bith’sa, get Gal’darah to tend to Malaka'raz’s funerary arrangements. Kutube'sa, send words to those who survive him and my sympathies, they will be offered succor in this time of trial. In fact, all sent on this mission shall be awarded reparations for indignities suffered in our name,” he added, looking to the two guards.

“We are unworthy,” one said.

“We… Frost King may we…” 

“You will have the chance to avenge him,” Malakk growled, “We all will. For now, leave us, return to your kin and speak of this quietly of this or not at all. For now.”

“At your command, Frost King Malakk,” they answered as one.

Chest beginning to heave, Malakk kept his gaze locked upon Malaka'raz’s fallen form.

He wanted to roar, to curse, to shatter something with his fist and feel his bones ache!

He wanted his cries to echo from the peak of Gundrak and shake the stone city to its foundations.

But he would not surrender to such cathartic things, not now, not yet.

He cast his gaze to the south and muttered, “I will not forget what they did to you, Malaka'raz, and I will fulfill your bloody promise.”

“I swear it.”

He waited there until Gal’Darak came, silent and reverent of Malaka'raz as he took the body away, that he might be treated and be made presentable to his kin, rather than forcing them to stare upon his mutilated remains.

“We will speak later,” Malakk uttered, as his Grand Prophet left the throne room.

“What of, Frost King Malakk?”

“War.”
_____________
NOTESS: 

Raka-Zen: This gets brought up in more detail in different stages, but long story short the Drakkari have a sort of self-made spell language based on fusing Old God script with holy prayers to utilize Saronite safely. This is primarily used by their Word Priests, others deemed skilled or strong willed enough to study this art but not master it usually only know like one or two phrases, enough to trigger an enchantment, nothing more.

Ra & Ka are both used in old god words in variations on Gaze, while Zen means life. Thus, Malakk is basically uttering a code word "Gaze-Life" to see his friends last moments and thoughts