In distant Ulduar, Loken sank into despair upon learning that the C'Thraxxi he had resurrected had failed to kill his enemies. He assumed that with Tyr fallen, Archaedas and Ironaya would not dare launch a direct assault on Ulduar. Yet the Discs of Norgannon remained a threat he could not ignore. Stealing or destroying the artifact was no longer an option; Uldaman had been fortified, and Archaedas and Ironaya were capable of defending it against any intruder.
Instead of a physical attack, Loken attempted to replace the Discs of Norgannon with his own archival design, which he called the Tribunal of Ages. He altered the historical records stored in this new repository to suit his will, erasing his sins from the annals and rewriting the legacy of the Keepers. Though he believed he had succeeded, the archive proved flawed. The history within became distorted—beyond even Loken's control or understanding. The Tribunal of Ages became a fractured mirror of reality, a place where truth and falsehood blended without boundary.
Loken then took one final drastic step to prevent retaliation from Archaedas and Ironaya. He was certain that eventually, his enemies would summon the constellar Algalon. To stop this, Loken modified the Titan communication systems in Ulduar, severing the outbound signal. Now, only Loken's death could draw Algalon's attention to Azeroth. He assumed that his death would come at the hands of Archaedas and Ironaya, and if that happened, Algalon would interpret the destruction as a sign of system failure. In response, he would annihilate all life on Azeroth's surface.
Meanwhile, in northern Kalimdor, the remaining vrykul clans began to dominate the harsh and unforgiving lands. With Tith, the Winterskorn, slumbering in their deep underground chambers, and much of the land sealed within Uldaman, vrykul culture evolved in unique ways. They forged new identities and customs, adapting to a world no longer governed by the Keepers.
One of the strongest clans to emerge was the Dragonflayer. Like the Winterskorn, they watched their iron skin slowly turn to flesh. At first, clan leaders tried to balance their waning strength by enslaving ancient proto-dragons, following the path of their predecessors. But the Dragonflayer did not treat proto-dragons as mere beasts of war. They made drakes into hunting companions, battle mounts, and symbols of honor. Over time, proto-dragons became an inseparable part of clan culture, even regarded as spiritual siblings.
Proto-dragons also became vital weapons in their conflict against the vrykul's ancestral enemies: the fierce bear-men known as the jalgar, forebears of the modern furbolg. Under King Ymiron, the Dragonflayer clan launched a coordinated assault that drove the jalgar into Kalimdor's dense forests. The victory solidified Ymiron's position as absolute ruler.
But soon after that triumph, tragedy returned. The Curse of Flesh resurfaced, this time with more horrifying consequences. Dragonflayer women began giving birth to malformed children—weak, fragile, and unfit by vrykul standards. Fear and superstition spread throughout the clan. Some blamed Ymiron, but the king held his own convictions. He accused the mystical Keepers of causing the curse—beings long believed to be the creators of the vrykul.
The Keepers, whom many vrykul had revered as gods, had long since vanished. No voice, no sign, no protection. Ymiron convinced his people that the Keepers had abandoned them. He vowed to unite all vrykul under his banner and forge a future free from the meddling of divine beings who had failed to safeguard their creation. As his first decree, Ymiron ordered a clan-wide purge: all malformed infants were to be destroyed.
Many Dragonflayer obeyed the brutal command. But not all complied. Some parents could not bring themselves to kill innocent children. They sought to hide their stunted offspring in a legendary place—a land far to the south, where a lost vrykul clan had once journeyed with Tyr, Archaedas, and Ironaya.
A number of Dragonflayer ventured south, carrying their tiny children in search of a sanctuary known only in myth. Most were never heard from again. But some found their way. With heavy hearts, they entrusted their sons and daughters to the vrykul of Tirisfal, who had long guarded Tyr's tomb and upheld his teachings.
In the ages that followed, the afflicted children and their descendants would continue to degenerate into mortal beings known as humans. Many other Titan-forged—mekagnomes, tol'vir, mogu, and giants—would suffer the same fate. Only a few of the Keepers' servants would resist the curse. As Yogg-Saron had hoped, the Curse of Flesh would weaken the Titan-forged. Yet the curse also awakened mortal qualities the Old Gods had not foreseen: courage, resolve, and heroism.
Unaware that these potent traits would one day shape the fate of the world, Yogg-Saron and the other Old Gods remained focused on a single goal: escaping their prisons. But freedom would not come swiftly. It demanded time, destruction, and betrayal. And the world, slowly reshaped by curse and hope, continued to turn beneath their shadow.
For now, a more urgent danger emerges in the fertile heart of Kalimdor. A new force—a savage native race born from the pulse of the world's earliest age—is rising from the shadows of the ancient forest. They call themselves the trolls, and soon they begin to feel the tremors of a feral entity imprisoned deep beneath the earth—something even the Keepers dare not name.
The Dragonflayer, long struggling to cleanse themselves of the Curse of Flesh, begin to lose hope. They attempt countless methods—purification rituals, proto-dragon sacrifices, even forbidden experiments with blood magic. Yet the curse clings to them, slowly corroding their bodies and souls. As their strength continues to wane and new generations are born increasingly frail, the vrykul ultimately choose hibernation. They bury themselves in deep subterranean chambers, hoping that long sleep might delay their ruin and grant time for the world to change.
16,000 YEARS BEFORE THE DARK PORTAL
Across generations, life flourishes in the ordered world of Azeroth, though beneath its surface, chaos continues to lurk. The most striking development occurs in the dense forests surrounding the Well of Eternity—a source of mysterious lifeblood that accelerates cycles of growth and rebirth. Here, Azeroth's primordial energy flows freely, shaping and sustaining life with unmatched intensity.
Soon, sentient beings begin to evolve from the primitive lifeforms crawling across the land. Among the first and most prolific are the trolls—wild hunter-gatherers who thrive in Azeroth's jungles. Though their intelligence is average at best, trolls possess extraordinary agility and physical strength. Their unique physiology allows them to recover from injuries with astonishing speed, and in extreme cases, even regenerate lost limbs over time.
The early trolls develop a wide array of superstitious traditions reflecting the wild environment in which they grow. Some tribes practice cannibalism as a form of reverence for the strength of defeated foes. Others devote themselves entirely to warfare, making conflict the center of their culture. A few pursue knowledge through mystic practices and meditation, seeking to understand the currents of energy flowing around the Well of Eternity. But the most influential are those who refine their bond with a dark and potent form of magic known as voodoo—a craft that blends curses, sacrifice, and communion with wild spirits.
Despite their varied traditions, all trolls share one common thread: their religion. They worship the Wild Gods of Kalimdor—primordial beings that are elusive and untamable. The trolls call these powerful entities "loa," and they treat them as deities to be revered, feared, and appeased. Loa are not benevolent gods; they demand blood, loyalty, and sacrifice. Yet for the trolls, the loa are the source of strength and identity.
Out of reverence for the loa, the trolls gather around a series of peaks and highlands in southern Kalimdor. These places, brimming with wild energy and often sites of loa manifestation, are considered sacred ground. The trolls name the mountains Zandalar, and soon they begin building small camps along its slopes—places where they can worship and commune with the loa directly.
The strongest troll group to emerge from this consolidation is the Zandalar tribe. Its members claim nearly all the highest plateaus of Zandalar, believing them to be lands blessed by the loa. At the tallest summits, they construct a cluster of modest temples, where voodoo priests and mystics lead rituals and sacrifices. Over time, these temples grow into a bustling spiritual city known as Zuldazar.
Zuldazar becomes not only a religious center, but also the political and cultural heart of the trolls. Here, tribal leaders convene, the most powerful loa reveal themselves, and the trolls begin to forge a civilization that will endure for millennia. Yet beneath Zuldazar's grandeur, the shadow of the imprisoned entity continues to tremble—awaiting its moment to rise again.
Not only were trolls born and thrived on the continent of Kalimondor, but the races of Middle-earth and Valinor also began to expand their influence. After establishing two great kingdoms—Arnor in the north and Gondor in the south—the high leaders of the mixed Dwemer and Elven races turned their gaze eastward and southward, toward the unexplored lands: the ancient continent of Kalimondor, a wild yet promising territory.
Elendil, the wise king descended from Númenor, together with King Dumac of the Dwemer and Fëanor, the creator of the Silmarils who had returned from his spiritual exile, planned a grand expedition to Kalimondor. Their goal was not mere exploration, but the founding of new cities that would serve as centers of trade and diplomacy between Valinor and Middle-earth, and as bastions of civilization in a land destined to become the epicenter of global conflict.
The world tree Silmalorë, having suffered repeated failures in Angband while attempting to forge rings of power for Azeroth's future, called to them with caution and hope. It knew that Kalimondor's future would be shaken by a cataclysmic event—the massive explosion of the Well of Eternity, which would forever reshape the continent, as recorded in the history of the Azeroth game-world it had studied in a previous life.
For that reason, Silmalorë offered Elendil, Fëanor, and Dumac a seed from its own body—a branch of the world tree containing the essence of life and the power to resist destruction. It pointed to an ancient map of Kalimondor it had drawn itself, complete with geological fractures and hidden arcane energy lines. There, Elendil chose the site for the city of Arvalondë, a city that would one day rival the grandeur of Annúminas in Middle-earth. It would be built among the mountains dividing Winterspring and the Kalimondor continental rift, with Wintergrasp to the right and the northern lands encompassing Dragonblight, Borean Tundra, and Coldarra.
Silmalorë knew with absolute clarity that this region would be one of the primary blast zones when the Well of Eternity erupted. It did not merely offer the world tree seed as protection, but as an existential anchor. The roots of the world tree would hold the fractured earth together and prevent the land from sinking into the ocean's depths. Yet it also understood that its original body would be affected by the explosion. Every branch grown in Kalimondor would be an extension of itself, and if one branch were destroyed, its entire body would feel the wound. But for the future of Azeroth, it would endure. After all, this was its second life—and it must be lived to the fullest.
Beyond Arvalondë, Elendil also planned the construction of two other white cities: Minas Calith and Minas Eryndor, along with a mid-sized city named Ostenereth. These cities would serve as diplomatic and cultural bridges to the night elves and highborne who would later emerge from the shadows of Hyjal's forests. Elendil hoped that this alliance would strengthen the position of the Valinor and Middle-earth races in Kalimondor, and create a trade network resilient enough to withstand the coming devastation.
Meanwhile, Fëanor chose a more southern region, near Uldum—a land bordering Tanaris to the right and the Dread Wastes on the other side. To the north of this region, Zandalar would one day rise, the sacred land of the trolls. He knew that in the future, this area would become a site of small-scale conflict between the inhabitants of Lómelindë and the troll tribes defending their territory.
Here, Fëanor built the city of Lómelindë, a city that would be filled with the children of the ent-trees and the entwives he brought from Middle-earth. It would become a spiritual and natural center, a hub of reforestation in the harsh desert region. He brought various plant seeds from Valinor and Middle-earth, hoping to transform the barren landscape into a living green oasis.
Fëanor also constructed a grand port named Aiwalondë, which would serve as a point of trade and diplomacy between races. He planted the world tree seed given by Silmalorë, though in his heart he remained puzzled by how Silmalorë could know the future in such detail. Yet, as always, Fëanor chose not to ask too many questions. He preferred action over contemplation.
For the Dwemer, Silmalorë pointed to a lonely mountain near Westfall and the Timeless Isle. There, they would build the city of Barakdûm, and the mountain was named Barazdûm. This city would become a center of underground technology and architecture, where Dwemer engineers and craftsmen would forge machines rivaling the wonders of the Titans.
The three races—Dúnedain, Eldar, and Dwemer—began sailing in vast numbers to the continent of Kalimondor. They were not alone. The Valar—Igneel, the fire and mountain dragon god, supreme judge and angel of death; Geraint, the golden dragon god of martial arts; Velskud, the black dragon god of darkness; Selene, the moon and star dragon goddess; and Irene Belserion, the wise and beautiful dragon goddess—accompanied them. The presence of the Valar would protect them in Kalimondor, serving as spiritual guardians and symbols of strength to resist the whispers of the old gods. At first, they would be unable to withstand the whispers, but with the roots of Silmalorë's tree, they could endure them.
Over the following centuries, other tribes emerged to challenge Zandalari dominance in the struggle for territory and power. The most prominent among them were the fearsome Gurubashi, Amani, and Drakkari. Gurubashi and Amani in particular claimed vast regions of Kalimondor's dense forests. At times, these tribes clashed, often fighting over hunting grounds and magical resources.
Beyond their conflicts with the newly risen troll tribes, they also challenged the territorial claims of the Dúnedain, Elves, and Dwemer. However, these skirmishes were limited to border zones and remained localized. Major wars were rare and seldom prolonged. Trolls were fierce and highly skilled fighters, and any full-scale conflict would be disastrous for all five factions. Untouched lands were abundant in every direction, and the tribes soon realized it was wiser to relocate than to risk war with the other beings of ancient Kalimondor.
There was only one place strictly forbidden by the tribe's shamans and priests: a small mound of gleaming black stones at the foot of the Zandalar Mountains. The site had no name in the troll language, for even speaking of it was considered a summoning of curses. The ancient loa warned tribal mystics of the dire consequences that would befall anyone who dared disturb the stones. For centuries, not a single troll—not even the most reckless—dared defy the taboo. The mound became a symbol of absolute prohibition, guarded by silence and inherited fear.
But curiosity eventually triumphed over ancestral law.
A group of rebellious trolls, long skeptical of the authority of priests and shamans, decided to investigate the forbidden mound. They believed true power did not come from the known loa, but from entities yet undiscovered and untamed. When they dug into and touched the black stones, they found that the jagged, hardened surface was not ordinary rock, but the outer skin of a sleeping creature. The skin pulsed faintly, as if responding to their touch. No troll had ever seen anything like it. They were convinced this was a hidden loa—a loa so powerful that even other spirits refused to approach it.
Driven by ambition and ignorance, the trolls performed vile rituals and living sacrifices. They slaughtered their own, burned living bodies, and summoned dark forces from the shadows of the underworld. Blood flowed freely across the creature's skin, and from within the mound came a rumbling sound—like the heartbeat of the world rising from its long slumber.
Awakened by offerings of blood and suffering, a colossal general of the C'Thraxxi race emerged from the depths of the earth. His body towered like a living fortress, his eyes glowing like void-ripped chasms. He slaughtered mercilessly all who had revived him. There was no gratitude, no recognition. Only death. The trolls did not realize they had awakened Kith'ix, the creature who had survived the legendary battle against Keeper Tyr. Gravely wounded in that battle, the C'Thrax had fled southwest and hidden in the place that would later be known as the Zandalar Mountains. The ancient loa, shaken by his presence, had worked together to bury Kith'ix underground, sealing his body with spells and black stone so that no creature would disturb him again.
Now, that seal was broken.
The awakened C'Thrax looked upon troll civilization with contempt. To Kith'ix, they were but pale shadows of the Black Empire that once ruled the world. He knew the Old Gods would rejoice to see this pitiful civilization reduced to ash. With his partially restored mental power, the C'Thrax reached into the earth and found a race of creatures he could command: the aqir. These ancient insects, direct descendants of the Old Gods' experiments, still lived in small burrows and underground tunnels, hiding and waiting for a call.
Kith'ix gathered the aqiri swarm, whispering promises of power and dominion. He urged them to wage war and rebuild their empire over Azeroth. As the C'Thrax expanded his influence and restored his damaged body, the insects began constructing a vast underground kingdom, which would later be known as Azj'Aqir. Their subterranean cities were filled with organic tunnels, incubation chambers, and altars of worship to the Old Gods. Kith'ix watched patiently, waiting until the aqiri numbers were sufficient to launch an assault. When the time came, the C'Thrax led them out of the depths, and they swept across the land with unmatched brutality.
The elves led by Fëanor observed the battle from afar. They did not intervene, for this conflict was born of the trolls' own greed and foolishness. Fëanor, long attuned to the boundary between intervention and observation, ordered his forces to remain atop the great eagles descended from Thorondor, watching from the skies and recording the course of history.
The trolls' experience as hunters made them formidable foes. They knew the terrain, mastered ambush tactics, and possessed extraordinary courage. But the aqiri threat surpassed all of it. The relentless insect forces surged forward, and many smaller tribes fell in mere days. Troll bodies littered the forests, and the ground ran red with their blood.
As the aqir drew closer to the Zandalar Mountains, the Zandalar finally acted. They united the disparate troll tribes into a single great force, which they called the Empire of Zul. In short order, military and spiritual structures were formed. Members of this newly forged society set aside their differences and worked together to destroy the aqir, knowing that failure would plunge the entire continent into darkness.
The Zandalari assumed command of the troll armies. With their temple city towering atop the mountains, they could detect enemy movements and direct strikes to vulnerable points. Under Zandalari guidance, other trolls used ambush tactics in the surrounding forests to thin the enemy ranks. Elsewhere, revered priests summoned loa to strike their foes. These fierce Wild Gods joined the troll warriors in battle, tearing through aqiri lines and even wounding Kith'ix—though the injury merely slowed him, not stopped him.