The War of the Dead Part 3: (Patreon)

A gentle autumn sun cut through the grand trees looming over Zul’aman, shining their golden radiance on what could be charitably called the open-air palace of the Warlord.

Zul’jin sat on a throne of stone, his legs crossed and his posture meditative but he could hear the approach of his Hex Lord before spying it. All thanks to the chattering echoing on the streets that echoed over the sound of running water that surrounded the massive dais. 

His good eye remained trained on the Drakkari Speaker, a youthful and pale furred creature named Zala’Raz, before forcefully stamping down his suspicions. ‘They are guests, I owe them courtesy.’

His heart thumped in his chest when he saw the look on Hex Lord Malacrass’s face as they strode up the stairs to stand before him and his advisors, runic stave in hand and a massive grin on their face. They were accompanied by two Drakkari priests and their shared escorts, all were brimming with excitement and pride.

“I take it the test was a success then?” He intoned from his aged stone throne.

“A grand success, my Emperor! With the right words and through a strong will we bypassed the elves Runestones completely!” He cheered, drawing a wave of shock and adulation from the gathered priests and commanders, some even rising from their weaved cushions in shock.

“As promised,” The Speaker of the Drakkari intoned, “Our Saronite weapons can be of much use to your empire, just as you shipwrights and cannons can be of use to ours.”

“If we…” He started to seethe beneath his scarf, “If we had, had these during the war,” He wanted to shout; but no, he snapped his fanged maw shut.

‘It isn’t the Drakkari’s fault I never sought them out, that was my error, one of many.’

Turning to the Drakkari, he said, “You have done it young Speaker, consider this a good omen for your career, for you have succeeded in securing this trade. Zul’Aman will send your Frost King shipwrights, cannons, powder and my finest crafters to oversee them.”

The Drakkari’s golden robe flowed as they bowed low, long hair in tassels waving with every motion, “We are honored by your approval Emperor, and will in return send to you Saronite ore and the necessary crafters and Word Priests to make use of it.”

“All that is left is to discuss the specific amounts,” Zul’jin added, watching for any odd reaction given the Drakkari’s previous evasiveness but that was gone now as they nodded and grinned openly.

“Too right you are emperor, and this one is happy to announce that with the claiming of Utgarde Keep we have secured many Saronite relics and tools that will make for fine trade, and thus can offer most generous terms in short order.”

“Let us begin detailing the specifics then, Hex Lord, warriors, Word Priests,” He added with some uncertainty, “We thank you for your work.”

Each bowed and grinned, eager for what was to come, as was Zul’jin.

‘We may have lost the last battle, but the war is not over!’

__________________________________________________________________

Barafu was a mage, she grew up around magic, was suffused with it when she cast and knew it as well as her own body.

Barafu was also a Frostmane, the chill of a harsh winter, the cold itself was as familiar to her as air, she was used to the cold.

But despite Crystalsong Forest being suffused with magic and freezing compared to the magically controlled temperatures of Zul'Drak, the place left her unsettled. 

She glanced at Drek'Maz and mused, ‘Not just me either,’ at the sight of the young warrior hunched over some ruined steps looking miserable as their camp stirred around them.

In truth she could not say what it was about the forest that disturbed her so, but the fur on her frame stood on end, the tinkling humming never abated, her bones feel fragile like glass and there always seemed to be something drifting just out of mind and sight.

‘The locals make it no easier, either,’ she mused, thinking of the sparse raids by crystal skinned goat-creatures that shattered when they died but felt no pain, only glee.

She shook the memory off and returned to her task, alienatingly bright and odd or not, the land was magical and had relics aplenty. The crystals alone were of interest, but the ruined elven homes had trinkets, staves, and tomes as well.

‘Provided one can get passed the accursed ghosts!’

They were haunting creatures, fittingly; pink tinged skin and bedecked in robes that looked to cling to starved frames. The semi-translucent elves wandered the lands endlessly, some spoke with one another, others cast spells, or simply drifted, but all could turn violent when their malaise was disrupted.

So far, their Priests and Shamans were doing a good job keeping the Elves from seeking out their stolen things that were being sealed away in blessed vessels, but there had been more than a few close calls.

“Don’t like this place,” Drek'Maz grumbled.

“Few do, I imagine that’s why so few live here still,” Barafu said idly, as she skimmed through a waterlogged but still legible tome, tracing her mind’s eye along the arcane script.

“Not that,” he snapped, “Its different, getting worse, I don’t like to sleep, I see things, cold and dreadful. Calling to me.”

Ziz’zen the Fire Weaver idly waved her burning staff, “Ghosts and magic can play tricks on the mind.”

“Not tricks its-”

“I see humans!” The lookout snapped.

Barafu instantly drew her stave close, ice dancing on her fingertips.

“Easy, Bonechiller, the humans here ain’t no threat to us,” Zit’zen said, “Strange for them to be out here though, too superstitious for it.”

Not one to trust like that, Barafu snapped, “Are they armed, and how far!?”

The lookout leaned into their spyglass from atop their tents watch post and winced, “Don’t look armed, I think, kinda clumsy, they’re just… Ambling…”

“Ambling?” Drek’Maz ground out, hand on his spiked war hammer.

“Yeah, it is like… They look off to me, like a sickness or spirit has taken them, I think, not moving right, and… They’re gone...” He drew back, “oh don’t like that, not at all,” the muttered.

“How did you lose them?” Barafu called.

“Snow blast, storms coming in, one second there, next second gone, something is off!” the Lookout groused, eyeing the land intently, as guards grew every more wary and ready.

Zit’zen tapped her stave, “Maybe Nerubians scheming something? They have strong mind powers.”

“Whatever it is, we don’t wanna be here for it, the humans are gone, I say we go to before the cold hand catches us!” Drek’maz said, before drawing back, brow furrowing, “Cold hand?” as though it was not he who had said it. 

Barafu frowned as the camps disquiet began to grow, Zit’Zen looked to her and shrugged.

Snapping the book shut, Barafu said, “We have enough for now, we can return to Zul’Drak successful and study, then come back fresh later.”

The sigh of relief was audible, especially from the warriors, many of whom were rubbing their heads.

“Frost Warden,” she whispered to her personal escort who nodded, as Zit’zen joined them, “Make the wards stronger, talk to the prophets and Word Priests, this has me feeling off now too and I wanna be careful, not reckless.”

“As you say, Bonechiller,” The Frost Warden nodded.

“I’ll keep the fires high and bright, set up some warding flames too, good for drowning out the strangeness,” Zit’zen offered.

“Good, very good, come, let us go, not hasty, but quickly.”

Something cold was touching her senses.

Something predatory on the edges of her mind.

She didn’t like it.

____________________________________________

The air in the throne room was tense, the echoing sounds of work through the capital and soothing sounds of running water doing nothing to dispel the mood of its occupants.

“The human raiders were driven off, but when we questioned a captive, they said their people had been disappearing and dying cos of troll magic,” Quetz’Lit hissed.

Malakk frowned, toying with the tip of one of his tusks as he looked upon the leader of his Sky Legions and Chief Rageclaw.

“Humans blaming us for everything! Refuse to trade with kin! Furbolg towns are listening. Will use it as a pretense to make  trouble,” The Wolvar growled.

Kutube'sa grumbled behind the throne, “Everyone blame us for everything, well the Nerubians too I guess, but still.”

“Our ancestors did have a habit of invading them,” Bith’sa noted.

“Yeah, as though they haven’t-”

Malakk forestalled the debate with a well-placed click and leaned forward, “Do we know what is causing the disappearances? This seems more Nerubians fare than ours, but I am loathed to assume.”

Quetz’Lit shrugged, “Not seen much from the skies, my liege, but I can check with my riders.”

Rageclaw tapped their little paws together, “Taunka we trade with have been having the same problem, or more… They almost did.”

“Meaning?” Malakk asked, brow arched.

“Dreams,” The Wovlar said, “Glorious visions that turn horrible. Shining beacons and many people gathered in unity. Only for them to be rotting and worshipping hollow masks.”

“A disturbing image, but hardly familiar, something to do with the sleeper below perhaps?” Malakk wondered aloud. As usual that sent an awkward wave across the chamber, the sleeping old one was a familiar evil but also something most preferred to just ignore when not extracting its blood.

Seeing no suggestions, he pushed forward, “Still, this gives us some clues, I will need to investigate whether we have had any similar problems, Gal’darah and the priests say something has been brewing a way away, but their vision is hazy…” A disturbing prospect to be sure, and ill omens would surely impact morale.

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet and proclaimed, “For now, we will put more troops on the ground, we can live without trade from the obstinate one’s and they’ll not risk our wrath a second time. Ragelcaw, have your traders begin scouting for more information and keep our remaining trade allies close, be generous if you must, I will make it up to you. Quetz’Lit, take extra precautions with supply drops.”

The pair saluted, “As you command, Frost King Malakk.”

Dismissing them his thoughts turned to the next petitioners, but in the back of his mind, the mystery ate at him.

‘What is going on?’

______________________________________________

Heb'Jin bristled against the cold of Icecrown, his bat whining unhappily at the never-ending blizzard. “I know, I know, Braka’Ta” he murmured, patting their head. Even the inside of a rocky valley that rose up on all sides around their camp wasn’t enough to shield them from the cold!

‘Even the peaks of Zul’Drak bear no comparison!’ He thought, dearly regretting underestimating the cold of the glacier.

This was a miserable mission to be sure, but things were finally looking up on the Saronite hunt. Early on the raiding of the keep and nearby veins had been enough of a boost to their stores. However, the prospect of a flagship equipped with Saronite was too powerful to turn down. They needed more.

The natural place to look had been Storm Peaks, and as Second in command of the Sky Riders, it was natural to send him.

‘That was a fucking disaster,’ he mused, kicking some of the snow away from the cave mouth and revealing the crystal blue ice beneath. It had not even made for an interesting failure that he might tell by the firelight, just messy and unpleasant. 

Another baleful wind whipped across his back and Heb'jin hissed, "I hate this place." Waving for his mount, “Let’s go for a warmup ride, ey?” Braka’Ta shrieked happily and launched themselves from the cave.

Saddling up, Heb'Jin waved his escorts off and took to the sky as his kin continued to watch over the Word Priests and miners as they inspected the uncovered cavern.

As they surged into the air, snow swirling around them, Heb'Jin could not help but be reminded again of Storm Peaks. Always a bloody land with Earthen and Giant feuding, Harpies and Frost Dwarves massacring each other, Only the local Taunka and Gnolls had ever been all that reasonable and they were rarely seen save for the occasional nomad of adventurer passing through Zul’Drak.

It had often been brutal, but the violence flared up sporadically and had been manageable if one was passing through.

‘Now it’s a bloody mess,’ he thought, recalling the cracking explosions of lightning as Iron Dwarf came screaming at them, eyes shining like twisted stars. The whole affair could have sparked a war if not for their wings making it easy to outrun the ground bound creatures, but the Iron Dwarves territorial-ness was but half of the problem when combined with their effect on the local wars.

What had once been rare flare ups, had become near constant steam of shattered stone and mangled steel across the slopes and any who got caught in-between were left charred and ruined at best.

If they had found Saronite there they may well have gotten involved in the conflict, but despite the land’s proximity to the sleeper the Saronite little seemed to materialize so high, or may haps had long been harvested? And with the their Frost King loathed to meddle with their neighbors and everyone decided it was best to just watch and wait.

A shudder ran through his mount and into Heb'Jin’s mind as something cold strayed across their brain and he shook it off, chanting words of prayer and power beneath his breath as they soared through the air, trinkets humming with life and strength that drove off the cold.

“Want to head back already?” He asked, at his mounts whiny trill.

There was another tremor, different now, of something large and frightful on the edges of his partners senses. Heb'Jin nodded, they swerved around and ducked low, hoping to get out of sight of what must have been a dragon.

Another trill, a flicker on his senses. Bodies. Several. Moving.

‘What can live out here!?’

They swooped lower and he saw them… Whatever they were.

Slow shambling things that pulsed with blue light and wielding metal and glowing magic were surrounded by Nerubians, their desiccated frames trapped in webs as the spiders magic tore them to shreds.

‘Undead? I-‘

The sky roared and Heb'Jin craned his neck to see what his bond was telling him was there, a dragon, a giant, fully grown dragon was diving down upon the Nerubians and like their victims was Undead. Not even skin and rot, it was just bone and a swirling blue storm in the chest.

The Nerubian tried to dive back underground but a stream of torrential winds and ice scoured the lands and sealed their escapes as the beast lands and began tearing and gnashing at their bodies.

Any thought of a subtle escape fled his mind when it looked up at them with eyes of gleaming ice and let loose a blast of burning cold ice.

Snatching a bottled bomb from his hip, Heb'Jin hurled the concoction over his shoulder and heard it clash with the cold flames as they extinguished each other, a burst of force battering the air in its wake, but Braka’Ta rode the blast wave with familiar ease.

Distant shrieks echoed in his ears as new presences danced on his mind, ‘Gargoyles!?’

“Push your strength, Braka’Ta, we cannot be caught!” His mount shrieked and magic surged around them as their pace increased.

Taking from his hip a flare bomb, Heb'Jin shook the container and as it began to bubble and fizzle; lobbed it with all his strength into the sky. Within a second the glass was turned to sparkling particles as a cascading array of slashing fire and color filled the air.’

Then there was silence, all but for the howling winds.

‘We didn’t travel that far, where is the return signal-’

A flash of a firebomb burst distantly in the skies, accompanied by the shrieks of Gargoyles and furious magic.

Grasping his amplification amulet, he roared. “To me, Sky Riders! The enemy may hound us, but it will never outfly the Shrieking Sky Riders, show them the pride of Zul’Drak and leave them choking on snow!”

His bellow was answered by a scattered array of shouts, too few, the camp had fallen, not everyone had made it out. Heb'Jin turned to where he knew Zul’Drak would be, bracing with one strap on his mount and un-latching potions with the other. At his back something screamed and battered at his mind.

‘Come to me!’

He did not yield to it, every Drakkari knew better than to heed strange voices, the whispers in the metal were but one horror they were taught to guard against young and while this cold presence was unfamiliar, it was undoubtedly hostile.

“Wing Leader! Dragon incoming!” Voice called out from afar, their forms lost in the blizzard.

Heb'Jin could feel it, hear the flap of ethereal wings and a rumbling roar more like a scream than a dragon’s mighty bellow.

“I sense it, form up with your wing mates and divide, encircle and bombard if it gets close and never forget, we must survive!”

“Yes, Wing Leader!” They roared.

As the dragon swooped in on them, Heb'Jin and Braka’Ta angled low, feeling its icy presence near clipping them as it surged over head, but the flames missing by a wide margin.

‘Not as smart as dragons at least,’ he thought, lobbing a firebomb at the monster’s tail, and smirking as it got lodged into the bone before exploding in an array of fire and white shrapnel!

A few cheers rang out and Heb'Jin roared, “If we can hurt it, then we can kill it; turn this monster to dust!”

The dragon angled and reared around, flying backwards to try and aim on him before twin explosions crashed upon its back as a pair of wing-mates soared by.

“That’s the way, and never stop moving, we gotta get home before anything else!”

“Hail Wing Leader!”

The dragon shrieked, letting loose gale force winds upon them as they swerved and road through them.

“Jang-Sk'tek'vwahs-Sang!” The Word Priest called, their voice calm as a runic symbol flared in the air and an invisible force smacked the dragon’s skull sideways, leaving it bracing to control itself in the skies as another round of bombs soared down from overhead as they passed the beast.

“That’s the way!” Heb’jin cackled, even as he tossed a pulsing fruit into Braka’Ta’s waiting maw that left their frame pulsing with writhing energies, swelling their muscles and bolsters their speed.

“It’s rallying, War Leader!”

“No one ever said this would be easy!” He snapped back, “Brace yourselves for another wave and be ready for anything- Watch your back!” A Sky Rider was tackled from the sky their mouth shrieking its last as their rider vanished into the swirling winds in the claws of a winged creature that looked like a giant human.

“Dammit, don’t lose focus!”

“Hail Wing Leader!” Fewer again bellowed back.

Steeling his nerves, Heb’jin readied another bomb.

‘This will not stop me from getting home, nothing will!’

A spell flew over his head, looking like a swarm of shrieking bats that rounded on them again but was easily avoided yet again as its crackling, shrieking mass began to fade.

‘Hah, whatever you may be, you are not smart if you think you can outplay my Braka’Ta’s senses!’

Now they just had to survive all the way out of Icecrown and back home.

Heb'Jin threw back a warding potion and grimaced.

‘This is going to be a nightmare.’
______________________________

NOTES:
Originally the word priest said Znat’Bis, but I cannot for the life of me recall how I came up with that so I had to rewrite it to: sk = your, tek = skul, vwah = Fall, for the old god words and Sang = Deflect, & Jang = Protect for the holy words used to contain to the Voids powers Making:

Jang-Sk'tek'vwah-Sang, or Protect, your skull falls, Deflect. Its basically invoking protection and then imposing an instruction, before directing the energies, which is how a lot of Saronite magic works, imposing one's will on something through the powers of the Abyss.

Beyond that, I hope I conveyed that time is passing well, I considered drawing out this war preparation arc, but stuff like the trip to Storm Peaks didn't add much to the plot and I wanted to avoid unnecessary digressions.

Also for reference, even at their peak Saronite, the Drakkari won't have nearly as much as the Scourge did, or be able to use it as casually. Its also mostly as useful as it is due to be outside of context as opposed to eternally OP, hence why it can be controlled at all.