The Invasion of Rohk'aka - Epilogue (Patreon)

A dozen images, a hundred whispers and a thousand thoughts vanquished in an instant with the cracking of glass. 

Demetria's lips thinned as she gazed upon the results of her handiwork, 'My lord gifted that to me, I am loathed to waste such gifts.' 

But it couldn't be helped, the creatures had seen to that and now she must see to her duties, no matter their ill tidings. 

Flexing her fingers and uttering a prayer that could not be heard, the remnants of her orb were engulfed in shadow and with it any remnant of her foes essence. 

Drawing in a breath and looking casting her gaze across the well put together hotel room she had been awarded. Gifts of gold and patronage were a polite consideration to the town town they were raising their most recent host from her lord had said and Demetria agreed. 

The sleek wood panels scented with sandalwood and silk sheet bed were also a marked improvement even from she and her escorts ornate travelling tent. 

'Focus,' she reminded herself, pushing away from the desk and making for the door. 

 Corin's Crossing was a large town, in a generation it would likely be a city in its own right. occupying a well used trade route between Andorhol and Stratholme. Thus the people were used to much hustle, bustle and caravan visits. The streets were naturally bustling, even more than usual, thanks to the blue bannered camp that sat right outside their streets.

The people bore it with admirable aplomb, even if nerves might have been high, most took comfort in the sight of men and a few women donning armor once again, as the forges worked and food stores were pried open. Worry for the winter was in the air, as the dark cloud above let white snow speckle the street but it was not yet time to retreat inside. 

Finally, Dementia came to the town hall, Lord Saidan Dathrohan's personal guards saluting as she passed through the door. 

What awaited her was a compensable arrangement of paladins, priests, politicians and warriors, with only the redheaded Arcanist Doan disrupting the flow of Light Energy with his brimming Arcane essence. 

 Saidan turned to face her and she repressed a wince at his subtle bracing even as he tried to hide it, "My dear lady, Dementia, welcome." 

Curtsying, Dementia answered, "My Lord, I truly regret that my presence has become a specter of ill omen." 

Saidan stiffened and clutched his beer mug tightly, "My dear lady, I assure you that though the tidings may not always be joyous, that I am ever buoyed that it is you I can trust to tell me what I must here. Please, speak. What have you seen?" 

She did not lick her lips or swallow or shift, no matter her discomfort and with a smooth, but authoritative tone she said. 

"The Drakkari Empire's attack on the capital was a success. King Teranas the Wise was struck down with a cursed blade and the royal family has been captured." 

The ensuing explosion was entirely expected. 

The mayor, so recently joyful for his town would be re-supplied by Tyr's Hand dropped his wine glass to the floor. 

"Impossible," Gasped, Alexandros Mograine, hands bracing on the table and mind awhirl with pained shadows. 

Tirion Fordring slammed his palms against the wooden meeting table and shot to his feet but before he could speak Arcanist Doan snapped. 

"You lie! Your dreams are no replacement for military intelligence!" 

She resisted the urge to drawl and answered, "I was scrying on the capital." 

Doan shot to his feet, "Dalaran would not have allowed this to happen, there are mages there who could have evacuated the royal family!" 

"They were stymied," She countered simply, half eyeing how the young Brigitte Abbendis looked ready to strike Doan now that her shock was fading. 

Doan made to shout when her lord placed his mug on the table with enough force all heard it, even if he did not slam, his mere presence enough to compel silence. 

"That is enough Doan, difficult as it ma be to hear, Dementia's otherworldly senses are not to be dismissed." He turned to face her again, "What can you tell us about the battle and the the royal family?" 

Dementia bowed her head, "Much of the battle was obscured by spirits and magic, though I shall have a report ready for you soon milord. As to the royal family," She sucked in a low breath. 

"Their efforts to escape by magic seemed to suffer some form of sabotage, or so I assume. They sought a path out of the city with others through catacombs."

Alexandros nodded, voice tight, "There should be hidden docks they could use."

"Would that were the case lord Paladin, but the enemy was well prepared," She brushed silver hair from her brow. "Agents of these Drakkari slipped into the city through magic and guile; terrible spiders of gargantuan size and wit."

"Nerubians..." Doan whispered. 

The young prince and Elite guard put up a valiant fight, but when the Drakkari took the palace and sent their agents into the catacombs, the battle was lost. I believe they yet live, but my efforts to divine their location were... Stymied." 

"By these Nerubians, or by the Trolls gods?" Saiden asked matteroffactly. 

"The spiders milord, with their task done, they were able to turn their efforts against me. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of eyes and whispered, images and sensations, accursed feelers of mind and magic sought to destroy me. I am sorry milord, I had to destroy your gift to deny them."

"You made the right choice" Saiden said airily, his gaze hard and lost in thought. 

Tirion finally spoke, "I must return home now, Mardenholde Keep is not safe and I cannot leave the guiding of a host to my lieutenants!" 

Saiden repressed a scowl, "I cannot countermand you my friend, nor would I deny you the right to protect your family, but we must proceed with caution."

'Unfortunately Tirion is not a cautious man, too ruled by his passions,' Dementia mused, but she did not speak, for all her talents this was not her place. 

Tirion nodded gravely, "I shall not charge headlong into enemy fire if that is your fear, but nor can I ignore this or my duties at home. I shall leave immediately and fortify the Western Border." 

Saiden did not agree, Dementia knew this, but he did not say anything, merely saying, "Then I would offer you the winged hosts we have raised thus far. As many as I can spare, take with them what mages and elite forces and wise advisors you can to better prepare for what is to come."

"As you say," Tirion answers hastily, clasping arms with Saiden before racing out the door. 

Saiden glanced at Brigitte, "Young Paladin, return to camp and take stock of things, we were not idling, but not we must be ready to move with haste. But speak not of this information to anyone. Yet."

Saluting, the redhead marched out the door, "As you wish, Lord Commander."

Turning to the other men, Saiden said, "Lord Mayor, I would ask that this revelation be kept quiet for the moment. The people must know but only once they have been adequately braced for such a reality." 

The aging man nodded nervously, "If the assurances of imports from the Eastern Coast remain that will at least... Soften the blow." 

"We will not leave you and yours to starve, for now, please leave us," Saiden said, before turning his focus to Doan. "My friend, I need you to link with our other mages, use whatever supplies necessary to commune with Dalaran and tell then, of what transpired they may know more than use." 

The arcanist bowed, "It  will be done milord!" 

Soon enough they were left alone with Alexandros who seemed lost in thought, but also quietly wary at the absence of all others save themselves. 

"Lord Commander, what are my orders?" 

Saiden measured his fellow Paladin for a moment before speaking, "You have been lost deep in thought brother. Is there something you wished to share with me?" 

Alexandros still before his gaze drifted to Dementia who did not repress a chuckle. "My lord does not need me to keep him abreast of everything, especially the actions of his own fellows in the Order of the Silver Hand." 

"Indeed," Saiden answered, bluntly adding , "Your secrets are your own, but I am an open minded Paladin and a commander who only seeks to protect his land and her people. If you have something that can help with this, whatever it may be..." 

"I do," Alexandros whispered, gazing at his ruined hand, "I will ride home and retrieve it immediately." 

"Good," Saiden said with a crisp nod, "Join us in Stratholme, Baron Rivendare has been far too slow to raise his host." 

"Not in the South?" Alexandros asked quietly. 

"Our forces will be moving South to join the hosts are being raised, be it by the Barov, the Fording or more, and it is there a bulwark shall be made. I know camps and raiding forces of knights are already in motion, though I would see them soon sent East that we might fortify ourselves foremost. Still," he added idly.

"As the most populated city besides the capital, it may be these Drakkari's next target. And unlike Tyr's Hand and the good folk of New Avalon, I cannot say for sure if the merchants and lords so far from this war will understand its gravity. Not if all I have heard thus far is anything to go by." 

Alexandros nodded, "I see, thank you Lord Commander, I leave you now and shall return with the item well in hand." 

"Safe travels my friend," Saiden intoned as he watched his fellow Paladin race out the door. 

Only then did he let his shoulders slack and his voice show its age, "This is a disaster," a hand ran through his long grey locks. "We do not even know if the Royals are alive, let alone the people of the city and with King Teranas and so many of the generals gone..." 

"The line of command are frayed, but this shall not stop you milord; I need not the gift of prophecy  to know you shan't lead us astray." 

The man offered her a wane smile, "Let us hope that prediction is as accurate as your others," His smile faded. "And let us pray for those in the capital and beyond, for until we march it is all we can offer them."  

"May the Light preserve them," She intoned. 

_______________________________________________

The scent of broken mortar, smoke, and the tang of salt suffused Lianne’s senses. Charcoal tainted her tongue and copper seemed to burn in her throat.

Yet Lianne’s expression beget nothing. A regal mask of neutrality, even as she held Calia close, running a hand through her hair as they walked through the palace halls surrounded by giant, trolls who had to shuffle lest they leave their prisoners behind.

Her other hand held an unconscious Arthas’s, the brave boy had fought his damndest only to be ultimately felled, and Lianne was unsure if she should be relieved or terrified that he still lived.

‘If I can convince them to just use me and hold them as bargaining chips, it could work or maybe…’

The trolls had taken her poison infused ring when they and their beasts pulled her from the tunnels. But if she moved quickly enough… Could she spare them? Could she take that act? Would it even matter when the trolls had priests of their own?

Callia let out a weak sniffle and Lianne pressed her lips to her daughter’s head, “Brave girl, mother loves you,” she whispered.

Lianne’s focus was stolen away when she realized the trolls were not lost within the palace but instead not taking them to the throne room but instead… the Royal Records Room?

The well-worn door swung open and the lead troll in robes squatted to slip through while the red armored one motioned them after her, Arthas hanging limply in his arms.

Swallowing, Lianne guided Callia forward and found the distant sounds of breaking rubble and drums fading to the sound of shuffled papers and muttering in many tongues she did not know. 

Her attention was drawn to the tallest creature she had ever seen, bedecked in dark blue and white robes of odd design, and adorned with a crown of crystalized ice and feathers. Just as he loomed over the his kinm, so too did he stand much taller than the oak shelves that filled the chamber like a maze. 

He seemed blissfully unaware of how out of place he was as he muttered at a nervous looking junior phage.

“This is the most recent census, and it includes projected military drafts, correct?”

The brunette swallowed and nodded, “y- Yes, it was gathered on the winter solstice last year; doing… Doing so then ensures we have a more accurate gauge as most stay within their villages and cities with little  travel.”

The robed troll who led them here slammed their chest, “Frost King Malakk, we present you the Royal Family or Lordaeron, Queen Lianne, Princess Callia and Prince Arthas.”

The phage wilted under her sharp gaze before shrugging helplessly and shuffling off as quickly as he could.

The troll king sighed and turned to face them, his expression odd to her, even for the trolls.

Orange eyes met grey and she steeled herself, hands grasping her children tight as she moved to speak.

Only to be interrupted.

“Why’s the small one unconscious?” he rumbled.

Their captors shared an awkward chuckle before the fiery red head said, “Had a mean swing on him and you said to take them alive. Sos’tha lost half his tusk in the scuffle for that.”

“Hmm, send him to get it regrown or a prosthetic with my thanks.”

“Thank you sire!” the aforementioned troll called from somewhere outside the chamber, before marching off grumbling in his own sibilant tongue.

His gaze had not broken from hers for even a moment, nor had his tone dipped or shifted, there was but a moment of silence and she capitalized on it.

“My children, they are young, innocent and of more use to you alive and unharmed.”

The troll’s brow arched, and he made a vague slashing motion with his hand, for a moment she feared a blade strike but nothing came as the troll leaned back and spoke oddly gently.

“Did you or your children take part in the death of my friend and Speaker, Malaka’raz?”

Lianne stopped short, the name unknown, the terms unfamiliar the questions complete nonsense to her ears, “I do not understand.”

The troll huffed and waved a record of an Alliance council between them. “I saw no sign of your presence in the meeting where his fate was decided so I supposed not. If so, then you and your children have nothing more to fear from me. Were circumstances different,” he motioned vaguely as if releasing a dove from his hand, “I would release you, but the situation is too volatile for that, thus you will be my prisoners but treated as my guests.”

He looked to his guards, “This will have been hard on them, escort the family to their chambers, if they wish to stay together, let them and have a novice priest or two of their church sent to care for their wounds.”

His gaze snapped back to her once again, “You and I shall have much to discuss, but not now, go, rest and care for your children.”

Lianne could not believe it, did not believe it, even as she followed their escorts offering only clipped directions to her children’s chambers, the grip terror held on her heart did not abate.

‘Just what does he plan to do with us? When will the axe fall? How can we escape?’

__________________________________________________

‘That queen has a strong will, she may prove a great aid, or a painful hindrance in the coming days,’ Malakk mused.

Turning away from the doors and directing his attention back at the one of many maps of the nation and its neighbors laid out around him with forts, postal stations, borders and more marked down he grunted, gut aching at the sight.

He heard Arctikus saunter into the room, spear tapping against the stone, “The last city block has surrendered completely. It will still be some time before we collect the weapons and sort our affairs however.”

“That is to be expected, and the church?” He asked, not taking his gaze away from the maps and census sheets, mind racing.

“Many civilians fled there, along with some soldiers and members of their priesthood. But it was surrounded before they gathered in enough number to make it a bastion of resistance. Grand Prophet Gal’Darah is still in talks with the Archbishop. The old man stood upon the steps and demands his life be the first taken ‘if we still sought to slake our bloodlust’,” she hissed.

Malakk clicked, “It would be best if we resolved things with the Church peacefully, they may be useful, nay, necessary…”

Sensing his discontent, the Great Mother marched up to his side and looked up at him, “What troubles you?”

He glanced at her, showing her the sheets that had started gave birth to these new anxieties, his mind as weary as his body.

“I believe we… Underestimated the scale of this nation and their allies.”

Her brow rose, “You fear we may fail?” 

Malakk chucked without humor, "That was always a possibility. No, these thoughts come to me now for even with all your tribe has suffered, all the rumors of wars and loss... I did not truly understand just how much they had taken from the other tribes. I thought this place perhaps something like what you described in the mountains... Not this," he said, gesturing at the map that signified Lordaeron's rule stretching from the Eastern to the Eastern Coast of the continent. 

Arctikus clutched her damaged spear tightly, "This one can only offer her apologies, Frost King Malakk-"

"You spent little time here, you did not know," He said airily, "But Zul'jin, I wonder now how much he has, and why my Speaker did not notice this?" 

Arctikus's tone was soft, “The other tribes would hardly want to advertise their weakness; even we did not until we had lost everything and your Speaker kept mostly to the city, yes?" 

Malakk huffed in affirmation, mind still occupied by the numbers on the page. 

“Maybe if we had called for aid sooner this never would have happened," She shook her head, "but their numbers... They concern you?" 

Malakk nodded, “Somewhat, or more, their ability to procure more concerns me.” He sighed, gaze trailing along the many maps, eyes heavy.

“I sought a swift war, one where we could strike down our foes leaders and crush their military strength, but it seems I underestimated the enormity of this task,” he said, motioning to the maps.

“For while they may fracture when bereft of their kings and armies it is not a certain thing, and even if they did they would likely rally much faster than expected. But worse," He traced a finger along a wall hanging map. "These humans spread so wide, with so many population centers, so much larger than I thought them to be on the maps, and that is just this nation." 

“What would you have us do then, Frost King Malakk?” She asked, saluting.

Malakk’s mind whirled but he already could see the few paths remaining to him; rising to his full height he spoke sharply and with the authority of a king making his proclamations known.

"First we must finish securing this city, put workers on the walls and fortify our position." He began counting off on his fingers. 

"Then we must ensure our secret project is ready before those in the East marshal their armies and march upon us. 

His hand closed into a fist, "And finally, we must summon my advisors, as many as we can as swiftly as we can." 

He turned and marched from the chamber, "We have much to discuss." 

______________________________________

The Holy Temple of Lordaeron was a grand place, pristine walls of white marble and grand pillars. With ever blooming vines stretching along the walls and stained glass windows shining a rainbow of hues across the pews. While a shining array of polished braziers that cast the temple dais in a perfect halo of light. 

The temple, normally pristine if somewhat bustling with quiet and contemplative activity and hushed politics was now crowded. Some were injured, others were lost, or mourning or simply too afraid to leave the and return to streets still marched by victorious trolls. 

Alonsus Faol was not a young man and he had seen his fair share of conflict even before the Second Way. But truly he had hoped to see through the rest of his life without witnessing another war. 

Unfortunately, fate was against him and the people of Lordaeron and within a few weeks the capital itself had been torn open and now trolls and unfamiliar beast creatures roamed the streets. 

As was to be expected in hard times people had come seeking the sanctity and protection of the Church.  

'Which they had unfortunately accounted for,' Alonsus mused, as he straightened is dark blue robes, fixed his silver collars and ensure he was as dignified as befit his station. 

'I refuse to be anything less when my flock needs me at my best,' he resolved, marching through the doors to stand before an ornately robed troll with bright pink hair. Adorned in a kilt and ornately armored tunic of brown and purples, lined with a sturdy bronze. 

The troll was not the tallest f his kind but was still a giant and had seemingly taken that into consideration, choosing to stand several steps down to ensure their different in height was not so obvious as to force Alonsus to crane his neck skywards. 

"Grand Prophet, Gal'Darah," He intoned respectfully, always respectfully, it was a holy tenant after all. 

The troll grinned but it did not 'seem' mocking as he offered a bow, "Archbishop Alonsus, this one thanks you for your time this evening." 

"I can only assume it was important if you asked me from my flock," he said. 

"Indeed it is," Gal'Darah said grimly, "Our priests and Shaman are doing what they can to tend to the wounded caught up in the fighting. However, some are proving rather... Difficult."

Alonsus blinked owlishly, "You are tending to them?" There were tenants of the light that demanded such, even if some fell short of this ethos, many more did not and compassion, even to one's enemies was a core of the Holy Light. 

"We are trying to," Gal'Darah said with an almost lyrical vexation, "Some refuse or fight or make matters worse on their own. Thus, it was hoped that you would be willing to render your assistance." 

"I would naturally do just that, however," he intoned gravely, "One could assume this a trick to lessen the priests in the temple without fighting." 

"One could but they would be wrong," The troll answered. "If it would assuage your concerns we can simply bring the obstinate one's to you, though some may injure themselves in the interim." 

Respect was another virtue of the Holy Light and one that compelled only one answer. 

Clasping his hands and sucking in a breath, Alonsus said, "I have your word as a holy man that this is no deception or trick?" 

Gal'Darah stood just a little taller at that, more alert, before drawing a dagger from his belt and cutting his hand so deeply blood flowed as if from a glass. "I offer an oath, on my honor as the Prophet of Akali that this is no trick, Archbishop." 

A moment later the blood vanished in a sparkling wave and the troll bared his hand to show no sign of his wound, "My Loa is pleased, you see?" 

Nodding, Alonsus said, "Very well, I shall need to assure my followers and then we may go." 

'That' ensuing discussion had been more than a little difficult, especially among the flock. But soon enough Alonsus Faol stepped out of the Church only to find Gal'Darah in a hissed debate with another troll. 

"Do you realize to act as such would make this one look deceptive?" 

Alonsus did not speak the trollish tongue and so did not know what the other said back in their sibilant, blocky tones. 

They bickered back and forth for a few moments, before Gal'Darah turned to face him, frowning, "Archbishop, I have been called away by duties demands. But be assured, that those who remain to escort you can be trusted." 

Alonsus remained silent for a moment, the debate on whether to trust the word of one troll in the name of others instead of their own weighed against the simple fact that if people needed to be healed he had a duty to tend to them. 

It was a very swift thought, "Very well Grand Prophet, I shall trust you in this matter." 

Gal'Darah blinked owlishly, before sighing, "You are to be commended, Archbishop," He offered a grand bow, "May we speak again soon on happier topics."

______________________________________

In a move both necessary and poetic, the War Room of Lordaeron's Palace had been claimed for this meeting. 

Yet none gathered within the grad room of smooth stone, high ceilings and ornate maps could truly appreciate such a setting. 

Malakk stood with his hands clasped behind his back looking over the map of Lordaeron his foes had not the time to even re-order with their attack. Forces laid out within the city reflecting on a comparative small portion of the token marshalling in the East and South. 

Gathered around the too low table stood advisors, Drakkari like Gal'Darah, Arctikus and Chief Rageclaw, as well we foreign aids, like Halazhi and Ixit. All looked upon the map in contemplation, the wear and tear of battle still noticeable, be in in the cracked armor of war-lord Zol'Maz or the debris and dust clinging to the robes of Speaker Zala’Raz. 

Of those present on Zol'Maz spoke, his tone sharp and sibilant, "This war was folly from the outset. Would that we see a rival king dead, then we would have been better served to send shadowy assassins than an army."

Arctikus rapped her knuckles on the low table, "You misspeak, for even were we to neglect the execution of noble Malaka'Raz, the lands of the Frostmane are still held, our dead still rotting in the snow."

Zol'maz's fangs snapped together, "You have new, better lands, in your ancestral home, while the dead reside with the Loa now. The matter is done!" 

Arctikue looked ready to throttle the taller troll, but few would notice Chief Rageclaw's tail pressing against her leg as if a reminder of quiet support. 

Quet'lith had less such restraint and snarled at the older troll, "Mind your tongue."

"I shall mind nothing, I cannot be dismissed as some coward, I joined the fray, lost loyal retainers for this war. Now I tell you this, we must sew for peace with the Alliance and return home, forgetting this wretched place ever existed!" 

"Peace," Malakk scoffed, turning away from the table. "I tried to sew for peace, and the Alliance proved themselves incapable of such decency when they tortured and executed my Speaker. An act so barbaric I could not even conceiver of it!" 

He whirled around, and drove is Ice-Claws into the table, piercing the capital city. "I saw to it there could be no peace they would even feign when I took Teranas's head from his body!" 

Zol'Maz stiffened, as if expecting to defend himself before snarling, "Which was a mistake, your oaths should not guide an empire-"

"This war was supported and endorsed, Zol'Maz," Gal'Darah snapped, his wand resounding on the table firmly. 

"And as ever there was a contingent in protest," Zol'Maz countered, "Now it is time to heed our wisdom and end this conflict!" 

"End!?" Actikus scoffed, "It never ends, war-lord. No victory is ever enough for them, toppling our capital was not enough for them, driving us from our farms was not enough for them, our mountain crags and a simple valley were not enough for them!" 

A harsh, chaotic clicking sound resounded as Ixit croaked out, "They would follow. they would seek vengeance and to weaken a rival state that can threaten their own, as you do." 

"I-" Zol'Max tried to rally but Malakk spoke first. 

"Enough! What is done is done, the war declared, Speaker and kings lay dead; offer a tenable solution or merely gift us with your silence Zol'Maz." 

Silence lingered for a time, after which redhead answered, "We have their royal family." 

"A royal family," Hala'zhi whispered, earning a glare from the taller troll. 

"A fine lot of aid you were, leading us into this quagmire," Hissed Zol'Maz. 

The War Priest bowed, "No deception was intended, but we do not keep a census of every human settlement, least of all those deeper to the South." 

"Blaming Helps nothing," Rageclaw said swiftly, "The family, hostages or trade?"

Malakk clicked, rubbing his chin, "It is hard to say, their presence gives more incentive to attack, but the Alliance has proven unable to ne negotiated with in civilized terms, so no agreement with them can be trusted." 

"Then let us table that," Gal'Darah offered with a light tap, "The question is not can we avoid further confrontation, but how can we best succeed?" 

"Such confidence?" Sneered Zol'Maz. 

Gal'Darah smirked, "All faith must be tested." 

"Enough," Malakk said with a low irritated hum, "Quetz'Lith, your musings?" 

The Sky Sovereign looked upon the map and tilted her head, brows knitted together. "An efficient solution would be to torch the fields and claim the farms. Then launch a campaign such as this again from a new location before the fires are done until their stocks are so weakened they would take decades to pursue us." 

Hala'zhi perked up at that, "Such a plan would ensure the Alliance doe snot simply begin venting their vexation on your cousins and friends, Frost King Malakk." 

"And would render me dishonorable to the last and likely bring a curse down upon our number." 

That seemed to leave the Forest Troll looking contemplative, while Actikus said, "Such things can be balanced, wild fires would stall the enemy for a time, even with their magic." 

"This is winter however, even magical flames can be quashed,"Zol'Maz noted, and quickly added. "If we wished to make a hard campaign for them, luring them into enemy territory may be ideal. Our supply lines cannot support more than maybe a third of the Five Hundred Legions of Zul'Drak, but at home, we could wear them down." 

"This sounds like another excuse to leave," Gal'Darah sniped, leaning across the table. 

"Not at all," Countered the troll with forced neutrality. "We would meet them on the coasts, after fortifying them and wear the enemy down, the Amani, if Loa and Gods willing, may even strike them from behind. It would be safer than a campaign across the seas." 

"This presumed they don't march on my tribe to ensure we cannot aid you," offered the War Priest with delicate tones, before sending a side glance to the Frost King. "I know well the Shadowglen are already reclaiming Zul'Ashar and our enemies have never been moderate when they choose to strike. 

"That is a great deal of coast," Moorabi observed carefully, having spoken for the first time since arriving, from his perch along the roof beams. 

"And few welcome those that bring war to their lands," Ixit mussed suddenly, their sudden interjection making several resist the urge to rear back. 

"Indeed," Zol'Maz said, chest swelling, "We would have much support, the Rageclaws's efforts too would pay dividends." 

Malakk however frowned, "That is not what I think you mean Seer Iixit." 

The Nerubian was silent for a moment before clicking, and whispering, "The future is uncertain, we can say some would resist the interlopers, but others would lay blame." 

"And," Malakk stressed, hand resting over his sharp gaze, "We know the Grizzlemaw would aid invaders against us with joy. While their human satraps would likely welcome the power of their cousins." 

Rageclaw's paws patted the table, "Jintha'kalar would be a first target, Less secure than Zul'Drak." 

And lousy with potential co-conspirators given that city's Royal Family had been among the most resistant to rejoining and sympathizers still... 

Malakk tapped the table sharply, "Allies... We need allies." 

Arctikus arched her brow, "Like the Amani or the Orcs?"

Malakk chuckled, his tone growing in haste, "Like collaborators and conspirators! Yes, word must be sent to the Amani to discuss potential terms, and orders to Hooktusk to secure the Shadowglenn's support through any means she deems acceptable. But look upon this lands, so vast and varied, you cannot tell me there are none who would not benefit from the known orders being shaken to their knees." 

Speaker Zala’Raz clicked his tongue, "I have heard tell of the Gnolls in this land and of many rogue Ogre Tribes too, but I think you are meaning the humans yes?" 

"All of the, but yes indeed, my Speaker," The Frost King cheered. "Even mercenary companies are something to consider now if Lordaeron's treasury has worth." 

Zol'Maz scowled, "You said the humans too dishonorable to treat with?" 

"As a whole? yes," Malakk said bluntly, "They are too strong to be forced to hold to their bargains lest they truly wish to, but a few Great Houses, some ambitious merchants and warriors?" A which smirk spread across his handsome features, "After all, you can always trust a traitor to look out for their best interests." 

Malakk traced lines along the map, "Even if it does not secure us this land forever, it will give us more time to prepare our neighbors and fortify the Homefront than if we just press on like this or leave. It could open up new avenues of supplies and weaken our foes by turning them against each other." 

QuetzLith was smirking, viciously, "If we have the Shadowglen we can use their turtles to help claim the nearby Lake and stop reinforcements by that route, force them to face us in killing fields we control." 

"Another fine point," Malakk mused. 

Hala'zhi offered a swift bow, "Honesty demands I inform you my emperor may wish for your aid against the elves in return for war on the humans."

"That may be necessary regardless," Malakk said growing more somber, "Many Alliance leaders gave voice to the order of death and one hailed from Quel'Thalas. I shall determine their guilt in time, but for now we must explore all options." 

Rageclaw patted the table, "Mine can begin seeking allies."

"Indeed," Malakk intoned, "I want our scholars picking apart every scrap of history and noble houses to determine who best to turn to or sides or even pull into neutrality. Explorers and agents can seek out those displaced by humans and... Yes, the camps, those Orcs proved their mettle in battle. Let us see how far these Orcish Legions can go, hm?" 

There were a dozen Internment Camps marked along the map of Trisifal alone. 

Zol'Maz was scowling but added, "If we are to try dragging this conflict out to bloody our foes, then we should send raiding parties and saboteurs to the East to stymie our foes." 

"A worthwhile point," Malakk mused, before glancing to Seer Ixit who nodded and spoke in raspy tones. 

"We shall continue to aid you, for now, but we must commune with the empire to determine out future in this war." 

"I thank you for all your aid so far, you have done much for us, Seer Ixit," Malakk then looked to the table and clapped. "We have the beginnings of a plan. I shall leave you all to discuss this, as I must speak with Zala’Raz and tend to another task." 

Each saluted, and Moorabi finally jumped down from the ceiling to join them, "Hail Frost King, we shall not fail you." 

With an affirming nod, the troll king marched from the magically silenced chamber with his Speaker in toe. 

Only when the doors closed, did Zala’Raz speak, their youthful voice firm but light, "My liege, when you spoke of us being perhaps unable to hold this land forever. That, to this one, tells that you think we could?"

Malakk looked down at their youthful speaker and nodded, speaking quietly, "Perhaps  so, Zala’Raz." Clapping the younger troll on the shoulder he added, "Come, let us find our new attaché and then see what the Morning brings." 

______________________________________

The clouds that had subsumed the city in the grips of battle had departed, and despite the Winter chill, the mid morning sun shone brightly, with not a cloud in the sky. As if something divine had cast them aside to shine a gentle light upon the city of Lordaeron in the wake battle. 

Before the royal palace, people were gathering. The crowd was neither large nor small given the size of the city. Many hiding away in attics and basements when the proclamation to assemble was let loose and those who hid were left to do so.

But others, perhaps fearing reprisal, or simply desiring the truth trekked to the steps of the capital palace. Sill, their eyes were wide and wary at the sight of trolls atop rooftops and arrayed on the streets in strict and regiments legions that would have done any Alliance drill commander proud.

Standing at the top of the steps was a troll, lean of frame and sharp of feature save for his small, rounded tusks, with long white hair slicked back like a wet mane. Adorning his frame were robes of sparkling gold and silver and in his hands, he grasped a strange idol, akin to a small wand layered in runes and studded with an emerald jewel.

He brought the idol to his face mouth and began to speak, his voice calm and measured, nearly soothing.

“People of Lordaeron, I thank you for your presence and assure all of your safety in our presence, for it has been promised and assured by our leader, Frost King Malakk, arbiter of Justice and Uniter of Empires.”

He strode across the marble white stone, his movements fluid and open, neither sharp nor stern even as his voice washed over the streets like gentle thunder.

“I thank you all for coming, you show great courage and patience with your presence here; I understand this must have been frightful given the past day. We asked for your presence but did not demand it, that you might understand why we have brought woe upon your lands.”

He was quiet for a moment, his tone shifting ever so slightly into something firmer but by no means harsh.

“I assure you it was neither bloodlust nor greed that caused us to raise steel and lose lives so far from our beloved home, but instead our peerless sense of justice and honor.”

His voice began to grow louder even as his tone slowed.

“Some years prior, in the closing days of the Second War a tribe of our kindred, the Frostmane of what you call Khaz Modan sought to reclaim but a fraction of land they had once held as their domain unchallenged. They thought the Dwarves too distant and too few to care for but a single valley, but ever did they underestimate their ancient invaders pride and fury.”

His movements began to grow sharper, the idol pulsing with energy.

“Their builders made no war upon the Dwarves but were slaughtered without mercy, butchered and massacred! Their village leaders head placed on a pike that his mother might see it and weep; but this was no warning. Instead, it was a promise of a genocide to come and so the Frostmane fled to us, losing friends, family, babes alike to the cold steel of those who hunted them.”

He turned to face the largest mass of crowd standing at the steps, both hands clasping the idol as he spoke measuredly.

“Our Frost King Malakk welcomed them and though they were now his subjects, in his infinite sense of fairness and justice he sought to resolve this with words and not blades. Thus, he sent to your grand Alliance my predecessor, Speaker_Malaka'raz.”

They held for a moment, beckoning for a hush among the Drakkari audience members who thumped their chests in salute and commemoration.

“He could not have been mistaken for some raider, nor would he have acted as one! He walked peacefully upon your lands, arriving quietly in robes of gold, ready and willing to speak! But what greeted him was capture, torture and a merciless execution!”

Lurching back as if struck he clutched at his heart and called out, “His head was sent to our lieges’ home as a warning, agony tore at his soul, pain and heartache that was echoed across our land for such a cruel fate!”

Halting their theatrics, the Speaker leaned forward, almost conspiratorially as he spoke, voice still carried across the winds as clear as a winter chill.

“Thus, we have now come, at last to avenge his fall upon those who committed the crime and that would defend them. We come here seeking justice, not plunder or your pain, merely to balance the scales! All those who do not raise steel or spell, or prayer against us shall be left be. Already the people of North-Port and beyond return to their lives with their homes and families unharmed and un-harried.”

He moved forward as if to go down the steps.

“We come here seeking justice against those who ordered unjust death and those that would defend them. Your homes, your churches, your way of life shall suffer not for the Frost King and Drakkari Empire welcome all who deal in honor and fairness.”

He pointed to the crowd and proclaimed his voice grandly.

“I stand here now in a position I neither sought nor desired so young, thanks to the loss of my mentor and friends. I am Zala’Raz, Speaker of our leader, Frost King Malakk, I speak his words, my voice is his voice.”

He gestured above him to the royal balcony where a great troll stood, towering over his kindred, a crown of ice and vibrant feathers adorning his head and flowing robes of blue, black and white, fit for any king, his arms held wide as if to embrace the land and people before him.

“I stand here to proclaim that while the city’s rulers have fallen, that Lordaeron will survive, that you the people shall live freely and safely as members of the Drakkari Empire, thus proclaims Frost King Malakk!”