"Reth! Reth! Reth!"
The trogg writhed beneath the acolyte's grip, black blood and scintillating ash smearing across its boil-ridden hide. It protested fiercely but uselessly against the scalding dragonhide, against the fiery doom that awaited it. Dragged from the gloom of the holding pen and towards the infernal precipice into Azeroth's molten depths, the screeching creature was drowned out beneath the hoarse chanting of dwarven acolytes and the hissing of noxious gases that would greet it moments before the end.
"Reth! Reth! Reth!"
The unfortunate creature's wordless pleas, punctuated by broken phrases in the common tongue, fell upon deaf and uncaring ears. Its fate was sealed long ago, when the black iron fist connected with its thick, but breakable, skull. It was sealed when it awoke, bound by the legs, dragged through the subterranean field of its own kind, taken to be branded with the sigil of Sulfuron. From then, the nameless trogg, and dozens more of its kind, were little more than disposable vessels of soul and blood. The Living Flame demanded it be so.
"Reth! Reth! Reth!"
And it would be appeased, in vast and splendorous displays, distantly borne in the twilight days of the world's waking and brought into the molten light of dwarven caverns by the prowess of Thaurissan. Perched upon an aerie of steel above the fuming, molten maw of sacrifice, the Ninth Thane of Kol Ungor watched and listened and waited. With every snarling, thrashing trogg that plummeted into Azeroth's fiery underbelly, the tides of magic swelled to greater heights.
"Reth! Reth! Reth!"
Unseen they rose, breaking in waves against the crumbling, charred edges from which robed acolytes hurled fuel onto the fire. Even they, the sorcerous cabalists of the Firelord's devoted, recoiled in fear of the power that was waking in the depths, and retreated to the warded safety of their bunkers.
"Reth! Reth! Reth!"
Around his feet, the welling arcana pooled, and like liquid flame ignited the runes of warding that decorated the fingertip of dark iron. His hands rose, and the flames rose with them, quaking the deep mountain cavern with the fury of fire and rock entwinned.
"Burn! Burn! Burn!"
The Living Flame awoke at his command, rewarding the sacrifice of he and his with the unbridled fury of the mountain. Plumes of magma rocketed high into the towering magma tube, and pellets of basalt drew blood from he who stood, arms outstretched in triumph, in mindless adoration of the being, the entity that emerged from the sulfurous and steaming vapours. Pitiless eyes of embers formed to meet his gaze, and beneath their wrathful stare the Ninth Thane prostrated himself, for none may challenge the Living Flame...
A new year is soon upon us! Even in this festive season, the Order of Lordain doesn't rest for long. Here's a little snippet of background lore for our upcoming 'mini'-campaign in Kol Ungor, a Dark Iron hold long-overrun by orcs!