War of the Dead: Part 2 (The Winds of War Howl) (Patreon)

War of the Dead: Part 2 (The Winds of War Howl)

The completion of the Frostmane Compound was a welcome bit of good news for all concerned. It was a sign of safety, security, and success.

Arching off the Royal Road, the compound was built below mighty mountains of the Storm Peaks. A fitting place for trolls whom worship Shango, the Storm Loa.

Sharply cut Black stone had been used for much of the buildings, but one could see the Frostmane's own more circular affections as well as large igloo scattered around the compound, beautiful dyes etching patterns into the snow.

The rocks had been taken from the mountains themselves, meaning the more traditionally minded outdoorsy Ice Trolls had taken the time to flatten them into humble tiers. Leaving newly arrived Frostmane to build homes on them or to burrow into the mountain itself, while others tiers would act as quarries.

Spreading out from the center of the settlement were large communal halls, apartments and food banks as was to be expected.

At the compounds heart was a massive squared off, open air temple, enchanted braziers and pulsing crystals created an impenetrable barrier against the cold and in the middle of the grey roof, was a sharply cut hole, through which stood a bronze idol. With each strike of lightning, Shango's power suffused it and they would receive offerings, give out blessings or offer advice.

Naturally to commemorate the occasion, Malakk declared a day of celebration; wine flowed, rare meats and spices were broken out across Zul'Drak. And nowhere was busier than the newly anointed Frostmane Compound.

Gathered near the alter was every High Prophet from across the Empire, some chatting amicably, others boasting or glaring, old rivalries not quite forgotten. But all were respectfully giving the most focus to the Frostmane Seers of Shango and the Loa's newly anointed Great Prophet, Grik'nir, to whom the other prophets were eager to doll out advice and offers to.

Meanwhile across the magically warmed streets and ziggurats music placed and Drakkari tricksters performed spectacular displays of enchanting magic and recounted epic tales for the young and their families.

Hunters and warriors were carousing everywhere one looked, sparring rings quickly drawn up in snow that they might show off, while farmers, laborers and traders sang songs or cheered on the fights and stories.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, many Shamans, Word Priests and Water-Binders were congregating around the mysterious Bonechiller_Barafu. She was easily the strongest among the Frostmane's few arcanists and what was more, the only mage of note in the empire. Thus, it was no wonder those who had mastered spirit magics and words of power were intrigued by a natural philosophy so usually associated with the Nerubians and Blue Flights, as well as for what it said about the future of the empire.

Naturally, one could find a Rageclaw amongst every group, usually several.

And of course, Malakk was in attendance, his guards and favored advisors never hovering far from his sight, even as they talked and caroused with their kin, leaving way for the Great Mother Arctikus herself to direct the affair, as was fitting.

'She takes to this well, it makes sense, after managing dozens of children I am thinking,' Malakk mused, half watching the silver haired woman charm her fellow chiefs, overseers, and the various representatives from Great Families.

He sensed Bith'sa shuffling up behind him, the winds cloaking her words as they slipped into his ears.

"Will you not be announcing what is to come?"

"No, this is their night, let them enjoy this well-earned peace for a moment, I can always announce what is to come tomorrow," He said, before gulping down the remnants of his wine from an ornate glass.

"As you order it, my Frost King Malakk."

Malakk looked to his people, his subjects, his kin and repressed a growl at the painful absence gnawing at his gut.

'Malaka'raz, you will be avenged. I swear it!'

___________________________________________________

Malakk sat upon his throne, the wide and ornate hall of black stone & jewels had been cleared of the usual feasting tables and replaced with an intricate magical map and cushions for his prophets, chieftains, and advisors.

Along the wall's crystals and eternal flames of many hews shone, illuminating the grandly carved walls of stone that bore the faces of bejeweled trolls, spirits, and Loa.

Surrounding the monuments were reliefs of monumental moments in their history, such as the raising of Gundrak itself and splashed across the walls were runes in the holy language of Zul'Drak.

And of course, all around it flowed crystalline waters, traveling across the aqueducts and stone carved streams that swirled throughout the temple city.

The richly detailed doors that bore sigils of powers and images trollish royalty flew open to reveal his advisors. First among them Gal'Darah, Zol'Maz, Quetz'Lith, Chief Rageclaw, and of course, the Great Mother herself.

'She already knows,' he thought, seeing her face, one of resigned empathy and frustrated fury. He had no doubt it was dawning on the others, but this was not new to her, and somehow, he imagined that made it hurt more in a way.

More and more Drakkari filled the chamber, hailing from as far as the distant city, Jintha'kalar; the array of accents echoing and sigils displayed proudly would have been dizzying for the uninitiated, but Malakk merely watched and waited as his council took to their places, awaiting his word.

Finally, when the lasts set of eyes turned to the throne, he began.

His voice rang out, cold and firm, "Advisors, prophets, priests and leaders of our people, I welcome you to my hall this day to share news of a crime most vile. My Speaker, noble Malaka'raz was captured, tortured and executed by the Alliance leaders."

The shockwave went through the room instantly, within seconds gasps and bloody curses were splitting from his fellow's lips as others stared slack jawed in disgust, confusion, and horror. Such an inversion of hospitality, such a dishonorable measure, how could it be, who could be so foolish!?

"I warned of this, we should not have revealed ourselves to the South!" Zol'Maz snapped.

"That is where your mind goes? How craven!" Quetz'Lith snarled.

"These humans must pay!" Moorabi bellowed, hands on his daggers.

"War is one thing, but a Speaker?! Such conduct must be punished," hissed Slad'ran.

"You think we should rush into war? Foolishness, they cannot touch us here, why expose ourselves?" Han'jin snapped.

The chorus grew louder, overseers and family heads joining the fray until the din grew to a fever pitch and-

"Your king commands silence." The storms rumbled and roared alongside him, and thus he did not need to yell, his voice simply 'was' thunderous, drowning at the brewing rage and turning all eyes to him as deathly silence befell the chamber.

Arctikus spoke up next, hand over her heart, "I am sorry for your loss my liege."

Malakk leaned back against his throne and answered, "You warned me of this, I will take better heed of your wisdom in the coming days, Great Mother."

She bowed and said, "Mayhaps, Frost King, but for what it may be worth, you and noble Malaka'raz conducted yourselves with honor. I've no doubt he was brave in the face of the cowards who stole his life away."

"He was," Malakk said, pushing himself from his seat, hands brushing his twin axes as he rose. "He was brave until the last moment, assured of his honor and secure in the knowledge I would not let such an injustice go ignored."

He clutched the handles of Frost and Gale, the wind began writhe and Malakk howled, "He was sent to the Alliance openly, he did them no harm, but was captured, tortured and mercilessly executed!"

His chest heaved, his eyes wide and fierce, "We were prepared to meet them honorably, but the Alliance answered with treachery and blood. They are unworthy of honor or fairness!"

Raising his weapons high her struck the enchanted steel, lightning crackling high above his head, "If war is all the Alliance understands, then I shall give it to them! I will paint their streets red with the blood of their soldiers, bury their kings beneath a mountain of his minions' corpses and tear out Teranas's heart!"

He slashed the air, blade of wind and ice howling in a raging chorus, "Then I will march South, to crack Ironforge open and we will split their king in two!"

Draw each blade across his shoulders he cut deep into the skin, his body and soul screamed, the council gasped as he roared, "This I swear in my own blood! We will have justice!"

The swell was immediate, starting with the guards lining in every hall and bleeding into the council. Vicious hoots and chants of justice and vengeance, of blood and bones echoed in the hall rising high and making the walls of Gundrak reverberate with their shared fury.

He slashed it through the air and the crowd silenced. "I hunger for justice as much as thee, but though they are honor-less curs, this Alliance is neither weak or foolish; they won't fall in a day or a night, we will have to be prepared."

Taking his seat upon his throne and watching as his advisors rushed to take their spots as he continued. "Our shipwrights must expand their knowledge and number, for I want an armada that makes Rastakhan's Might and the Golden_Fleet look like children's toys. I want armor, priests, and weapons to make a mockery of their holy light. I want enough Sky Riders to block out the sun but above all!"

He gestured to Arctikus, "I wish to understand how our enemy fights and thinks, that we might shattered them in a few fell blows. Great Mother Arctikus, you have spent a lifetime fighting the land thieving Dwarves, saw their conquest by the Horde and the Horde's harried retreat from the Alliance and defeat in the Burning Lands. In this war, you and your people's advice will be paramount."

Hand over her heart, Arctikus answered, "In this and all things, the Frostmane will serve you to the utmost Frost King Malakk. We will not fail you."

Accepting her words with a nod, Malakk motioned to the map, intent to carry the momentum forward before any thought to rally and cast doubt he said, "Then let us begin."

______________________________________________

Quetz'Lit clung to the back of her mount as the wind rushed through her mohawk and wafted over her frame, bone chillingly cold but tinged with unfamiliar scents like salt. Kaz'la shrieked, she could 'feel' its muscles straining and she gave her bat a gentle pat on the head as they continued their flight.

"Almost over, then you can rest," she cooed, glancing back at her fellow Sky Riders to make sure they were keeping up and shouting, "The keep is another twenty minutes away, hold formation!"

"At your command, Sky Sovereign!" They shouted back.

Nodding, she returned her attention to the flight itself, mind turning over the next order of tasks they had to complete upon completing their mission at Utgarde Keep.

It was an odd experience to be so busy again. During Zul'Drak's warring era there had scarcely been a dull moment for her band. The Shrieking Sky Riders could have hardly been called a tribe, or a polity and while she worshipped her name-sake Loa her band had no ties to the temple.

They had just been mercenaries for going on a century, using times of peace to raid Furbolg and their fellow trolls. But as the only fighting force left with any noteworthy number of aerial warriors, they had been popular mercenaries and damned good at their job too.

'Then the Frost King came and changed everything…' She mused. Quetz'Lit and her kin hadn't been invited to the amphitheater where Malakk had announced, not his candidacy but his 'reality' as king.

The story of how he rode into the midst of a tournament atop a conquered storm had spread far and wide fast.

At first it might have been nothing but a showy performance, but then Gal'Darah had offered him Gundrak. And rather than take up residence there to begin the usual games of war and sabotage, Malakk and his noble fifteen had instead wandered the lands fighting monsters, resolving disputes, and debating or dueling challengers to his claims.

When Zol'Maz surrendered his crown that meant two of the most secure territories were under his wings along with dozens of smaller polities, and after the Rageclaw signed on….

Well, it hadn't taken long for the future to become clear to Quetz'Lith.

Zul'Drak had two pathways, in one, she sided with the steadily forming coalition against Malakk, it would have been profitable for her, she might have even become a queen of a whole tier! But no matter who won, Zul'Drak would be torn apart and its population devastated. In the other, she joined Malakk, secured herself a spot as the leader of his sky legions and the forming coalition would fragment and be absorbed in short order.

'I do not regret my choice,' she thought, smiling ruefully.

But despite that truth, there was no denying the reputation and honor of her wing-mates and herself had… Diminished, as peace rose. They were raiders, soldiers, killers to the last and with no fighting left to do they mostly patrolled and occasionally went relic hunting or performed search and rescue.

Respectable pass times but ultimately minor faire.

Now though they had more work than ever and the promise of even more that they could genuinely enjoy. War. A just war, a great war, one that would echo across the world and burn their names into the tomes of history!

She'd be liar to claim they weren't looking forward to it.

The Breeders would need to bring about enough bats to carry not just their own growing number but that of several more legions than ever expected. What was more she had all her forces performing training for new recruits, out scouting for Saronite veins or running supplies and patrols from Zul'Drak to the Fjord.

It was proving taxing to say the least.

'Maybe we should recruit the harpies,' she thought with a chuckle.

Kaz'la rumbled as Utgarde and she signaled her followers to begin landing.

Cries of affirmative echoed on the air and their mounts flared their wings as they dipped into the 'Great Bite' that housed the keep and their new settlements.

Waiting to receive them was a host of Drakkari builders, Rageclaw Wolvar and a smattering of the local Tuskarr and Howling Wolvar. At the head of the crowd was Chief_Rageclaw themself.

___________________________________________________________________________

With the supplies already being distributed to the bustling camp, their mounts tucked away in an abandoned alcove for a nap and her wing mates off to feast and drink Quetz'Lit opted to get her other task done sooner rather than later.

Falling in with Chief Rageclaw as they trundled towards the towering keep, ocean spray filling the air she asked, "How are things progressing?

"Fast enough," Rageclaw answered, "Builders keep whining about tents instead of stone homes," the Wolvar chuckled.

"Ground Pounders are so used to more solid home-steads," She mused, looking at the large tent city that had sprung up around the keep, intermingled with Wolvar mounds and the steadily growing infrastructure for a quarry, lumber mill and docks. "But what do you mean by fast enough?"

Rageclaw shrugged, "I mean as fast as can be, we need more wood and builders before things can go fast. The Tuskarr have good ideas, your builders too. All want to meet these Amani you talk of."

"They are considered some of the premier shipbuilders of our people, so hopefully the Frost King's new Speaker is able to organize a deal soon."

"We shall see, slow going till then," Rageclaw growled.

They lingered in silence for a time as they marched along the ancient path, laid down by slaves of the Vyrkul in ages past and maintained to the modern day by lingering Saronite enchantments.

'It's all well and good to declare war; but this is unlike a traditional war, with honor and ritual. The kind of war Malakk called for, that is demanded for, is an honor-less war.' She shook her head at the thought. Such things were rare among trolls, it was total war, all-out war, the kind of war where the enemy's army was gutted and their leadership killed because they had proven themselves too dishonorable and untrustworthy to be met with anything but absolute force.

But for such things even the Five Hundred Legions of Zul'Drak needed to prepare. War-leaders were already working to forge new weapons and soldiers to counter the 'Paladins' that visions and the Frostmane spoke of.

The Alliance mages posed a threat too, Barafu was leading an expedition to Crystalsong for wizard lore.

Quetz'Lit was inordinately miffed at not being able to serve as her escort.

Then there was finding a counter to the canons or make their own, she knew the Juj'tulak were intrigued by the prospect of such things. But even with all that done there was still building the fleet, finding more Saronite and of course, getting more fliers.

'Even my bat breeders can only do so much, and these Gryphons sound sturdy, we need a hidden blade and I best hope this is it,' she thought as they passed the remnants of a Vrykul Village, already plundered for anything of worth.

"Trees here are plenty," Rageclaw said with a lazy wave of their paw, "Not as strong as back home, but no Furbolg to complain if we build and log here. A worthy trade."

"Still think this place can be used for the fleet?" She asked.

Rageclaw's bulky form shrugged, "Tukarr think so, your other ships get in here fine, so can work for some at least. Found a good spot of Eastern Coast. Need to talk to the Tuskarr there though."

"We will be relying on your skills and thanks you for your work thus far," She said diplomatically, as the shadow of the keep eclipsed their frames, and they reached the tip of the island it sat upon.

Rageclaw huffed, "Hope so, much clout and favors called in to make all this happen."

"Do not forget, you and yours were holding secrets from us too," She countered, drawing an offended snap from the chieftain.

"We hide nothing so selfishly," they argued, "Utgarde is dangerous, even for us, sneaking out relics is risky work, even we never travelled too far in and can only carry so much anyway."

"Yes, yes, and rare items yield better rewards too, but I am sure that is just luck," She countered.

Rageclaw threw up their head in a low, feigned dramatic howl, "See how much I help and my reward? Rudeness!"

"Forgive me," she offered dully as they approached the keep and were greeted by the sight of several eggs and a twin pair of bronze looking lizards with rocky backs gnawing on a bear carcass under the watchful eyes of a Wolvar beast master and Drakkari bat handler.

The little beasts saw them approach and let out rictus, hissing snarls, little bundles of light spilling out of their maws, only to stop at the insistent growling of the Wolvar as the bat handler patted down on their heads.

"Proto Dragons, I thought they were extinct," She Quetz'Lit uttered.

"We found some hidden eggs mistress, preserved in ice and magic," The breeder said.

"Such fierce little things! Hungry too, so much food they need, would eat three Wolvar families out of dinners and dens!"

"Can we harness them?" she asked, drawing an awkward shrug from the pair of experts.

"They are strong mistress, and will grow stronger, but they may take years to grow, maybe too long to be of help. Magic can help but then they'd be dumb and ill," he added quickly.

Humming unhappily, her ears twitched as someone shouted, "Is that the Sky Sovereign!? Get her here now, the chief to, we- We found-em, we found just what we need, hahahaha!"

"Has another curse been tripped making one of yours go crazy?" Rageclaw muttered.

"You'd know better than me," she answered, racing off with the Wolvar running on all fours at her side. In short order they were stepping into the massive tower that was something of a match for Gundrak, certainly an impressive city.

A chill washed over Quetz'Lit as they stepped into the grand halls and looked upon the towering, bulky forms of the legendary Vyrkul. Slavers and raiders from ancient times, best consigned to horror stories of what an evil life will bring. They lined the walls like statues, each with their own little alcove, and yet they did not move, or breath, or anything, for they were trapped in ice that thrummed with Saronite magic.

"Tread light, we disarmed many curses, but some may linger. Dangerous," Rageclaw said, motioning to a scar not totally hidden by their thick fur.

Quetz'Lit nodded and fell in behind the more experienced treasure hunter, keeping herself low as she followed the sound of chattering and cheering trolls towards a hidden tunnel that led to a sort of cellar.

"Mistress Quetz'Lit, we found-em, we found the treasure trove!" They cheered at her arrival.

Just as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, they flew wide.

Dragons.

Rows and rows of dragons!

So many were full grown, some younger, some still eggs, the adults hulking forms easily twice that of a troll and lined with armored plating. Each was sealed in ice and the cellar stretched beyond where her eyes could see!

"So- So many!"

"Hidden behind a wall. I see why we did not find it. But the eggs, what of them?" Rageclaw murmured.

A grinning Frost Warden answered, "Those came from the throne-room, definitely of import I am thinking, but this, this is what we been looking or isn't it?"

Quetz'Lit covered her eyes and began to chuckle, lowly at first and then so loudly it echoed across the halls, "This is perfect!"

"Contact Frost King Malakk! Tell him we have our Sky Legionaries!"

_____________________________________

NOTES:

My reasoning behind the idea of trolls having honorable VS honor-less wars is inspired by some reading I have done on certain pre colonial societies wars in 'South America'. I think it also fits with the world building of trolls as it pertains to lore, because:

Zul'jin managed to unite dozens of rival tribes and states, many of which hated each other and he did this through debate, overcoming trials, challenges and duels. This indicates a certain amount of ingrained diplomacy regardless of rivalries.
Similarly, Malakk in the RPG lore united all Zul'Drak.
Plus, among the Jungle Tribes, their prelude to war against Stormwind was the death of a  singular tribes leader, but despite rivalries they all teamed up against Stormwind with ease.

Thus the idea was born that when fighting amongst themselves or foes they deem honorable, trollish warfare tends to be more structured, akin to war games but not nearly as much 'winner take all' as real battles. This is further aided by their regeneration.

This isn't well known outside trollish custom though given most on the East view all their neighbors with such hostility that kind of thinking has faded for anyone but others trolls. But it hadn't for the Drakkari who have only really ever been threatened by themselves and the Nerubians in living memory.

Outside of that:

The Howling Fjord basically being uninhabited save for some Tuskar on the coast and one pack of Wolvar is really, really weird.

So I went with the idea that before freezing themselves, the Vyrkul layered curse after curse on everything and with Saronite boosting them the land and memories of their wicked armies and thus fear of waking them up, most Northrend natives left the majority of it alone, locked in time.

This is also why the Furbolg and humans don't strictly mind the Drakkari trying to settle there, figuring the curses might chase them out and not having any hold on the territory. This attitude may not last however.