Barely a thousand Trolls had escaped from Drak'Tharon Keep.
The joy of surviving the catastrophe did not last long. After learning the news, Dak'uru withdrew into himself again.
Even if the Drakkari clan had never been a strong, united Troll clan, even if its tribes had fought each other over territory, even if this ancient land held many bitter memories for Dak'uru, all of that was now history.
As one of the keep's builders, Dak'uru knew perfectly well what the fall of Drak'Tharon Keep meant.
When Dak'uru turned to look at the fewer than a thousand destitute members of his people, mixed emotions filled his heart. A helpless sense of loss washed over him.
Their home was gone, and so was their nation...
South of Drak'Tharon Keep lay a region called Grizzly Hills.
True to its name, the ancient Drakkari clan had named it for the Furbolgs that inhabited every corner of the hills.
In earlier years, the Drakkari clan rarely ventured into the hills in search of food or territory. For one thing, the Furbolgs here were powerful and dangerous to provoke. For another, operating in the hills simply was not worth the effort.
The soil in the hills was poor, and the Furbolgs needed to survive. Most of the forest's animals had been hunted down for food. The Drakkari Trolls could find neither food nor territory here. They were better off in Zul'Drak.
Holding a very old parchment map, Dak'uru followed behind Talanji and worked out their current location.
After they left Zul'Drak, the weather grew considerably warmer. Some snow still lingered in the mountains of the hills, but as they headed south into the plains, the snow thinned until lush green grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see.
Parts of Grizzly Hills resembled fjord country,