War of the Dead: Part 4 (A New Threat on the Horizon)​ (Patreon)

Ranvin’s fairly tedious guard duty upon the jagged mountain that divided the West and South-West staircases -Both so distant he could make out neither from which his own Winterfang_tribe got their name- that he quickly zeroed in on the first interesting sight.

Namely a dark, shuddering dot in the sky quickly growing larger and larger as he spied it through the telescope and saw a bleeding bat and barely conscious troll clinging to its back.

“We got incoming wounded! Call the Shamans and Priests do not let them fall!” he bellowed, before putting horn to his lips and blowing out the same message in code as his soldiers were already racing to obey.

Questions like ‘what happened’ and ‘where are their wing-mate’ ran through his mind even as he followed the trolls confused, agonized flight. A sigh of relief escaping his lips as he saw two more flyers from the local training squad tear into the sky and catch them. 

They got there just in time, or so it felt. As the moment the bat got sight of its kin it began to glide and then dropped like a stone the moment its riders was snagged from its back. Swooping in for a landing in the crystal trees where it collapsed limp on a giant branch near some guards as its master was hefted between two bat riders and flown down and out of sight.

“Kril,” he snapped at the lean, scholarly looking troll, “Go down and see what you can learn from him and ask Shakor about arranging a search party!”

“Yes cousin!” The nimble troll answered, bouncing down the hills on what was to be a long trip as Ranvin returned his gaze back to the skies, seeking any other survivors of what must have been a brutal attack.

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Kril’fon could barely even see into the crowded temple where the healers tended to the fallen Sky Rider, but he’d seen enough through the telescope when they brought the wounded wretch in.

‘That one should have died too, they all should have, the master will not be pleased by this,’ he thought, foreign magic thrumming in his bones, numbing his fingers as he debated his next act.

‘No, it’s best to wait, I won’t get anything by being hasty and his arrival tells more than enough, killing him would garner nothing but a loss for the master, and for me.’ He perked up seeing his cousin and their ‘chief’, Shakor marching out of the temple fort with his escorts.

Kril’fon raced to catch up to him, “Cousin, did the Drakkari survive?”

Shakor gave him a warning look before speaking, “The Sky Rider lives, he told me of undead nightmares at war with Nerubians who ambushed his forces, only he survived.”

“Will they come after him?”

The chief shivered, gnarled hand cluthcing his walking staff tightly before he shook his head, “Not likely. Their numbers were small from what he saw, if there were enough to invade Zul’Drak they would have done so by now. Still, the Frost King must know, and the Sky Riders who fell be avenged!” 

Shakor allowed himself a weak smile, “Still, saving him will be good for us, a reminder of our worth and loyalty.”

Kril’fon failed to hide his furrowed frown, “How do we know the Malakk’s little expeditions aren’t bringing this threat to our doorstep? Maybe they are stronger than even h-”

He was cut off by a snarl, as his cousin looked half ready to slap him, “Kril’fon.” He stressed. “We are of Zul’Drak; the Drakkari are the mightiest empire of Northrend. Legions guard the borders and more will come when word of this threat reaches our Frost King. Your bitter egotism has been noted and rejected soundly by the Winterfang; a fact you accepted when you donned that nonsense title of ‘fon’ so stop it.”

Kril’fon bowed, “Of course cousin, I will return to Ranvin after a night’s rest and tell him of this. Shall we arrange search parties?”

“I already sent a messenger bat, get some sleep and return to your post, then don’t trouble me again,” The elder groused before disappearing into the stables.

‘Unambitious coward, we should rule Zul’Drak, and despite your weakness, I will,’ Kril’fon assured himself, a soothing echo of coldness in his mind as he turned his attention to other, more important matters.

Like spying on the Legionary guards’.

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Malakk had to call or attend meetings with overseers, be they priests, great families, or appointed bureaucrats, on the regular.

However, he was not coming to enjoy the seeming increase in frequency in which all of those same souls had to be called to Gundrak in the wake of some calamity. First it was the Frostmane’s arrival, then the War declaration and the ensuing waves of strategy sessions surrounding that. Followed by what to do about the bloodshed in Storm Peaks.

‘And now this,’ he thought, glowering at the modelled map of Northrend and the cluster of dangers gathering around Icecrown.

The chamber was alight with conversations, offerings were being laid out at temples and effigies, bones and chants were being cast throughout Gundrak, all seeking guidance from ancestors and deities alike.

‘At least the Loa pulled their weight for once,’ Malakk mused, apparently offence at the loss of their worshipper’s soul was enough to drive them to action. Ensuring that blessings and insights spilled forth from temple hearts or flooded the minds of prophets. 

“This 'Scourge' must be wiped out, justice demands nothing lesss!” Slad’dran hissed.

“Agreed!” Shakor of the Winterfang called, “What’s more, Crystalsong is vulnerable, the vast planes would be easy to march an army across and to our doorstep!” 

Jintha'Kalar's Family head motioned their agreement, no doubt fearing much the same about Dragonblight. 

Warlord Zol’maz huffed, “Religious fervor and personal interest motivate you, not good thinking! The threat must be slain but why today? Common knowledge is to let one’s foes bloody themselves on each other before striking.”

Great Mother Arctikus cut in, “That is easy to say from on high, Honored Zol’Maz, but can we risk these Nerubians being added to the dead’s army?”

Moorabi scoffed, “You don’t know the half of what those spider bastards are capable of, let them fight alone I say, no reason to galivanting off to aid an enemy against another!” His hand traced across leather that covered scars and Malakk repressed a wince of sympathy at his friend’s discomfort.

“Especially when we are already preparing for another war,” Zol’maz added with a scowl.

Gal’darah clicked his tongue in thought but before he could so much as speech, Quetz’Lith slammed her fist against the map, shaking the figurines. Her voice hoarse and savage, "You expect me to leave my wing-mates unavenged and their souls in bondage!? Then what is the empire but a self-serving lie!?”

Malakk raised his hand and spoke firmly, “Peace, my kin, you all speak your hearts well, but I would not think to leave our kin enslaved and an enemy marshalling at our doorstep.”

He raised a finger, “But, I will not rush this either, war is a deliberate thing, we need to know more first. So, I will order Warlord Zim’bo and two Legions to march West and secure the edges of the Crysalsong Forest, that we might observe this threat before acting in haste.”

It wasn’t what anyone wanted specifically, but it was a workable compromise that left them better able to address any oncoming threat than before and hopefully spared him being contested. All of which meant it was probably the best decision he could make. 

‘I just hope I’m right in making it,’ Malakk thought.

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Arctikus had been making her way to the Cable-Railway when she sensed the presence of a servant shuffling up at her back.

“Can I be of assistance?” she asked, half turning and staring up at the larger troll.

Bowing they subtly slipped a scroll to her, “This one merely wishes to know if you will be staying this night, honored Chieftain?”

Slipping the script away, Arctikus shook her head, “I have some matters to attend to, but I do not know yet if I need a room readied for me.”

Hands disappearing into their sleeves, the troll grinned and bowed again before disappearing down the halls, “As you say, chieftain. Zil’il is only a call away if you wish for my services.”

Cutting down a new more roundabout path to the stations of Gundrak, Arctikus pulled open the scroll, brow arching as she read its contents.

‘Well. This is unexpected.’

It seems she had a royal appointment.

_________________________________________________________________

Malakk’s quarters were as large and grandiose as everything else in Zul’Drak, but perhaps not quite as ostentatious as she’d expect for the monarch of such an empire.

Still monstrously large of course both by design and necessity of his size. With a high ceiling inlaid with intricate runic script; great gold touched statues in the visage of trolls marked the entryway and served as load bearers. 

Pristine water flowed through and gathered in artfully arranged pools that divided the sleeping quarters and a lounged area surrounded by books and art. Large magic fires in ornate braziers, weapons, and art, along with a finely craved table stacked with scripts and records completed the set. 

Though Arctikus knew for a fact he also had a large private bathing chamber, exercise room and presumably his vast array of clothes and armor were stored somewhere.

Malakk himself was browsing his books and scrolls when she entered, fingers tracing down bark spines and leather hide. 

'Allowed in but left alone by even his elite guards?' She thought, hastily reworking her expectations. This spoke of something more than she could have guessed, but if it was a sign of trust or terrible, she could not yet be sure.

The towering troll glanced back and was holding several scrolls under his arms as he said, “Greetings, Great Mother, welcome again to my abode.”

“I am honored to be so invited, though I must confess some confusion as to the means of invitation.” Seeing the Drakkari’s ears twitch in embarrassment, she smirked and added, “I hope this is not the part of this play where you ask me to help you sire an heir.”

The jest landed and Malakk let out a sharp cackle, “Oh no, any heir of mine will need to earn their rank as I did. No spoiled princelings like the Zandalari have.”

Amused but also very much not wanting to press on the subject, Arctikus rolled her shoulders and clicked her tongue, “How then can this one be of service to the empire?”

“You are learning well, Great Mother,” hummed the larger troll, before sending her a speculative glance. “I take it you intended to return home, inform your tribe and perhaps discuss means of offering aid in this time without straining your number?”

“You read my intentions well, Frost King Malakk,” She conceded, “We are too few for but a small number to serve in the legions, so I thought to discuss what else we might contribute.”

Malakk nodded, motioning for her to sit on the cushioned seat across from his own with a large, ornate table between them which he was laying scrolls and books across.

“I believe I have something, something that I can only trust to the Frostmane with and that must be kept in the strictest silence until the matter is dealt with.” His tone was not grim, so much as pensive, eyes and brow furrowed.

Taking her seat, Arctikus simply said, “What is it you would ask of us?”

A brief flash of a crooked smile greeted her as he placed a large tome across from her, alien to the styles and textiles of the Drakkari, it was bound in scales and lined with carapace ornamentation, the symbol at its heart that made her head hurt to gaze upon.

“Tell me Great Mother, what are your thoughts on spiders?”