'Ello, welcme to this story.
Summary: Follow Zuzok the Ritual Master as he is banished from his homelands. Read as he travels to Azeroth and helps the inhabitants much like he helped his own people. Will he be accepted? Will he be allowed to return to his home of Terrokar Forest? Will he ever get rid of this annoying Sporeling that's following him? Read and Find out.
1. I modeled the Arrakoa cival system and government off of the Skettsis in the movie, The Dark Crystal, who they are based off.
2. I changed a bit around, it's just that not alot is mentioned in the game about their lore or ways.
3. In this story, Terrok is not their God, but their Emperor and Greatest Hero, who is now dying.
Ok, Enjoy!
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Chapter One: The Way of the Arakkoa
Terrokar Forest, one of the few vibrant and truly beautiful lands of the ravaged planet of Draenor, now commonly referred to as Outlands. The beautiful and lively plant life, the abundant animal populace, the actual life of the forest that was clear to all. It was as if the demons and fel energies had never invaded the once great world.
This was most likely due to the Arakkoa.
The Arakkoa, the wise and powerful race of bird-humanoids, who were older even than the ancient elves of Azeroth, and as smart as any Gnome you'll ever meet. The Arrokoa are a secluded lot, deep in mysticism and secrecy to outsiders, and usually hostile to any who infiltrate their territory. The Arakkoa had always had an affinity for arcane magic, in fact they were probably only second to the Eredar in the entire universe, when it came to spell-casting and ritual performance.
They lived long, with a minimum life span of at least six hundred years, and in that long life they were constantly crafting more powerful artifacts, finding buried secrets , creating new and powerful rituals, blending more useful spells and discovering mysteries to be solved.
The power of their rituals comes from their religious, and cultural icon, the dark crystals. Around one of these magical and immensely powerful crystals, they pray, foresee the future and harness energy. Although hostile to many, if you offer a decent bit of magical knowledge, or give away a magical artifact, you may have just made a new life-long friend with these bird-men.
A vibrant, and powerful race, usually jovial when with their own kind, but now, in their mighty tree-top capitol of Skettis, there is no joy, for their greatest hero, their leader, their emperor; Terrok, lies dying.
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Three Arakkoa walked down the wooden and stone halls of the grand Skettis palace high in the trees of Terrokar Forest.
They all resembled one other, sharing the features that their entire race possessed. All of them sporting colorful feathers, hunched backs, sharp beaks, glowing eyes and curved claws on their hands and razor-like talons on their feet. All of them wearing large, baggy, extravagant robes and carrying artistically carved staves.
One of them however, was smaller than the others, smaller than a normal Arakkoa in fact, reaching only five and a half feet tall. He wore a large green robe that clashed with his bright orange feathers and crest of yellow feather on his head. He carried a tall wooden staff, which was strait and ended in a two-pronged wedge, where a small, purple crystal floated. His yellow eyes blazed with knowledge, and a bit of madness. His pockets were filled with scribbled bits of notes, quills and the occasional bookmark. His taloned feet and clawed hands were hidden in his robe as his sharp beak opened and snapped shut at a periodic rate. The most outstanding feature was the eye-monocle that was placed in front of his left eye. This was Okail, the Scroll Keeper.
Another reached a large eight feet tall and wore a large blue robe with gold streaks. His feathers were a dull red and the crest on his head consisted of brown feathers. His beak was slimmer than his comrades and his blue eyes were shiftier. His large clawed hands and feet shuffled out of his robe as he walked. Ever so often he would stop and look around, as if they were being followed. The pockets of his robe sagged with the weight of gold and silver. He wore more jewely than the other two and seemed proud of it. He carried a gnarled, twisted staff with a large, knobby top, where a similar purple crystal floated. This was Ungal, the Treasurer.
The final Arakkoa, walked in the middle of the other two. He was an average height of seven feet and wore a lavish red robe. His feathers were a bright blue and his forehead had a crest of black feathers. His beak held a slight curve to it and looked able to snap through flesh and bone easily. His clawed hands peeked out of the sleeves of his robe and his taloned feet scraped the floor as he walked. Trinkets aligned his body such as bones from various animals and jewelry of fine stones and small golden chains. His blazing green eyes shone with understanding and something… else. He wore golden bracers on his wrists and a headdress of wood and bone on his head. He carried a long wooden staff with a carved clawed hand on top, in the palm of the hand, floated a purple crystal identical to the other two. This was Zuzok, the Ritual Master, and for lack of a better word, the 'hero' of our tale.
These three were members of the council of ruling Arakkoa under the emperor, which the purple crystals signified. And all of them candidates should the king die and no heirs were present, such as the current situation.
"So, the Emperor is finally dying, eh? 'Bout time." Said Ungal, blunt as always. Days spent in the royal treasury had diminished his social skills; in fact the only ones he got along with in all of Skettis were Okail, Zuzok and the vast treasure in his charge.
"Now, now Ungal. The Emperor has lived long yes, but he has made good use of all this time. If it were not for he, our kind would not be as powerful as we are." Scolded Okail, out of all the Arrakoa in Skettis, he was possibly the wisest. He knew the entire history of Outlands forwards and back, and was constantly recording the new events that were going on.
"Indeed. But now the time has come for a new age, a new Emperor." Said Zuzok sagely.
"Heh, I bet you know who it is, eh seer? You always looking into the Master Crystal, discovering the future." Chuckled Ungal.
"Indeed, I know many things of what is to come, but not what is to happen today. I have not peered into the Crystal for this event, it is meant to stay a mystery, until it comes." Responded the Ritual Master in a quiet voice. He was a wise Arrakoa, and the most magical of the council. Whenever an Arrakoa had a problem, they came to him. Whether it was for a fortune telling, a magical cure for sickness, a bit of wisdom, spell-training or a magical item.
"Hmmmm… it is said that if one does not know the future, than it is not written in eternity. Fate has no say today. Anything could happen." Said Okail, rubbing his beak.
His two friends nodded at this.
The three turned a corner and were now at the entrance to the Emperor's chambers. There seven other Arrakoa stood, and one lied in the luxurious bed.
The Council was made of eleven members, the Emperor, the Chamberlain, the General, the Ritual Master, the Treasurer, the Ambassador, the Scientist, the Architect, the Ornamentalist, the Scroll-Keeper and the Gourmand.
Each one of them was a candidate for the throne, but the three true competitors were, Sil'iq the Chamberlain, Eungu, the General, and Zuzok himself, the Ritual Master. Sil'iq had the true claim to the throne, as he was Chamberlain, but any of the others could challenge him for it.
Sil'iq was a thin, sly Arrakoa with purple feathers and a white crest. He had a slim build and his neck was neck was beak was formed in a constant smile. He wore much jewelry and a baggy purple robe. His staff was a carved staff with a slight bend to it, and a small Arrakoa head on top, with another purple crystal floating above it. He was very intelligent, and very charismatic and friendly, but that was all to hide his cunning.
Eungu on the other hand was a completely different story. He wasn't very magical, only knowing battle magic. He was abnormally tall, reaching an impressive nine feet tall. His feathers were all black, except his small crest, which was a sterling silver. His glowing orange eyes looked as if they were on fire, and his cloak-like red robe matched his temperament. He wore little jewelry as it served little purpose on the battle field. His staff was tall, and shaped like a club at the end, very suitable for bashing someone's skull. Floating around the club-end was the same purple crystal all the other's staves had.
All the council members were crowded around the bed, which held the decayed form of the Emperor. In his prime, Terrok was the greatest of his kind. He was an incredible ten feet tall, an impressive knowledge of Draenor, and so much magical ability, it practically oozed off him. He had single-handily built Skettis with his own incredible might, and powerful magic. The normal life-span of an Arrakoa was six to eight hundred years, but Terrok was so mighty he was now an impressive nine hundred and fifty three. His body was now old and shriveled, and his feathers had nearly all fallen out. He had grown so weak he was now unable to get out of bed. His once glowing purple eyes, dim and nearly blind. His muscles diminished, and his magic weak from years of non use. His shriveled form now lay in bed, in pain, but still the Emperor.
And now, today was the day he would pass on, and his followers would fight for his title.
Sil'iq approached Ter'ok, the Scientist, who was also the resident alchemist and doctor. The scientist was covered from head to toe with gadgets and enchanted jewelry, one could barely see his white feathers with a dull green crest, or black robe and strait, staff, which was completely covered in white wrapping, with the purple cyrstal floating around it..
"He is not dead yet, my lord Chamberlain." Ter'ok said with a bow.
"Hmmm… poor Emperor. In so much pain, so much misery. Do not worry, it will end soon." The Chamberlain said with false concern, secretly rejoicing that today was the day he would ascend to Emperor.
Terrok merely breathed harshly in response.
Zuzok inwardly sneered. The council held no love for each other. In fact, except for their own little groups, they hated one another. Zuzok and his fellow intellectuals, Okail and Ungal got on well enough. As did Sil'iq, Mori'ol the Ornamentalist; who was in charge of designing the jewelry and clothes the council wore and Ter'ok the Scientist. Eungu led the small group of himself, Grewn the Gourmand, who was in charge of the lavish feasts the council had each day, and Zreskil, the Architect, who designed all of the newer Arakkoa cities.
Merzill the Ambassador however, was feircly loyal to the Emperor, and would remain so until he passed on. Then he would serve the new Emperor, faithfully as he had Terrok.
Sil'iq looked at the scepter that lay next to the dying form of the Emperor. Completely made of gold, it was carved into a unique shape of three spiraling serpents, each one with a purple crystal in their mouth. The scepter ended in a sharp tip, as the serpents tails conjoined. The Chamberlain could not contain his excitement and slowly reached for the scepter. Immediately this was caught by Eungu, and he grabbed the Chamberlain's arm roughly.
Sil'iq hissed and snatched his arm back.
The Emperor, in the meanwhile had seated himself up and looked at the assembled council.
"S-soon, I-I will die. And t-the t-throne will be empty. One of you shall t-take my place, as the new Emperor. Rule as I-I would h-h-" And that was the last words the Emperor spoke as he suddenly fell into a fit of wheezing and then with one final breath, fell to his side. Dead.
The remaining ten Arakkoa looked at one another and approached the body. The funeral would take place immediately, and after, a new ruler would be chosen.
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What ya'll think? Give me the truth! I can take it! ... No I can't, please no flames!