The World of Warcraft is an expansive universe. You're playing the game
WOW Gold,
you're fighting the bosses, you know the how -- but do you know the why? Each
week, Matthew Rossi and Anne Stickney make sure you Know Your Lore by covering
the history of the story behind World of Warcraft.
Thrall named the ship Draka's Fury after his mother. It was the ship that
should have taken him without trouble to the heart of the Maelstrom during
Cataclysm, but the ship was intercepted by an Alliance fleet and destroyed. It's
been stated here and there that Thrall named the ship as a tribute to his
mother, and to the strong orc women in his life -- but there's a problem with
that. Thrall didn't know his mother at all, really. When he was just an infant,
both Draka and his father Durotan were killed, betrayed by their own kind, and
Thrall left to die. He named the ship after the strength of a mother that he
never really knew at all.
But Draka was far from weak, in her prime -- and to her mate Durotan, she was
the epitome of everything an orc woman should be. Strong, wise, brave, unwilling
to bend or break, Draka spent the entirety of her childhood defying everyone's
expectations, and continued to do so until the day she died. In Warlords of
Draenor, we'll finally get a chance to meet Thrall's mother and father in
person. We know who Durotan is, but who was that orc woman standing at his side,
and what made her so incredibly special?
Born into weakness
Draka was born to her mother Zuura and father Kelkar years before the orcs
were corrupted by the Burning Legion, but her problems began the moment she drew
her first breath. Weak and frail, her pale fawn color stood out in stark
contrast to the deep brown of other orc babies. Most expected her to die mere
hours after she was born, but she made it to her naming day, where the concerned
whispers of the rest of the clan made it clear that none really expected her to
live beyond a year, perhaps two.
Draka defied all expectations, and lived for years beyond that. As a child,
she knew she was weak, and she knew that this was bad -- a weak orc was no help
to the clan. But it didn't stop her from trying. When a fire broke out in the
orcish encampment, Draka did her best to try and carry water to the blaze and
help put it out. Unfortunately, she found herself in the way of an honored guest
-- Blackhand, leader of the Blackrock Clan. Enraged at the pitiful, frail child
underfoot, Blackhand sent her running home in disgrace, telling her if she had
been born a Blackrock, he would have drowned her himself at birth.
Arriving home in tears, Draka discovered Blackhand was right all along. After
Zuura put the child to bed, she was visited by Chieftain Garad, who quietly
asked the family to relocate to the encampment's edge. After all, the center of
the village was reserved for those with the most honor, the strongest warriors.
Draka did nothing but bring shame to her family, and to the Frostwolves as well.
It was best for the clan as a whole to keep her out of sight, and out of mind.
The next day, the family relocated, never mentioning the reason why -- but Draka
knew.
A warrior made
And Draka never forgot the words of Blackhand, the words of Chieftain Garad,
or the shame she brought her family. Years later, still frail and weak but
miraculously alive, Draka learned that her parents were told not to attend the
twice-yearly Kosh'harg festival, the event in which all clans met at the foot of
Oshu'gun. It was the last straw. Draka decided to visit Mother Kashur, the
Frostwolf shaman, and do something about it. Pleading her case to Mother Kashur,
Draka begged her to do something, anything to remove the shame she had brought
to her family. After consulting the spirits, Mother Kashur had an answer, of
sorts -- but it wasn't going to be easy. She sent Draka after three items needed
for a spell that would cure Draka's weakness -- the feather of a windroc, the
horn of a talbuk, and the fur of a clefthoof, all slain by Draka's own
hands.
She'd never been allowed to hunt. She hadn't even been allowed to build a
fire. And she knew going in that she would likely die in the process, but she
didn't care -- if she completed this task, she would bring honor to her family
at last. If she died, she would rid them of the problem that had brought them
dishonor for so many years. Draka may not have been allowed to hunt, may not
have been strong, but she was smart. One by one, she completed Mother Kashur's
tasks, and after killing a great clefthoof, returned to her village triumphant,
only to find there was no spell after all.
Mother Kashur didn't need the ingredients for some sort of magical potion to
cure Draka's ills. After spending so long out in the wilds hunting on her own,
Draka returned fit and strong, the very picture of an orc warrior. Her
reinvigorated health didn't escape the notice of the rest of the clan, including
Durotan, son of Chieftain Garad. At first, he nearly didn't recognize her at the
Kosh'harg festival that her family had at last been allowed to attend. But after
spending an evening gawping at Draka like a lovestruck idiot, Durotan knew he
had to have her.
Mate of a chieftain
She turned him down flat. Durotan came to her with all the bluster and
bravado of a chieftain's son, and she wasn't about to make it easy for him,
making an excuse that she was not yet of age for the courtship hunt he wanted to
take her on. But the chieftain's son surprised her -- he didn't leave in anger
or try to force the point, instead suggesting that in that case, they simply go
on a hunt together not as two orcs courting, but as two warriors, nothing more.
It was enough to change her mind, and the hunt that followed the next day was
not a hunt spent with useless attempts to impress or woo, but a hunt spent
between two equals -- two that worked incredibly well together, in Draka's
eyes.
And Durotan continued to be impressed by Draka, who cleverly picked up the
signs of an injured, limping clefthoof like it was nothing at all -- something
he'd missed entirely when he first saw the tracks. The two were surprised to
find not only the clefthoof at the end of the trail, but a giant wolf that
sprung on Durotan without a second thought. Draka charged at the wolf, piercing
its heart with her spear at the moment that Durotan brought his axe down.
Neither could really say who had struck the killing blow, but both realized in
that moment that they worked flawlessly together. And Draka confessed what she
had not told Durotan when she'd turned him down -- certainly she wasn't of age
the day before, but she came of age that day.
Time passed, and Mother Kashur passed on, to the sorrow of the Frostwolves.
To even greater sorrow, Chieftain Garad passed on as well, and the leadership of
the clan passed on to Durotan. The Kosh'harg was soon approaching, and although
Draka and Durotan had not yet been wed, one was rarely seen without the company
of the other. Unfortunately, life was about to change for the orcs of Draenor --
the elder shaman Ner'zhul sent a missive that asked for all clan chieftains to
come to Oshu'gun early, and to bring their shaman with them.
Draka watched him, her eyes narrowing. He looked at her and smiled. "I will
go, then. And all my shaman." Draka frowned. "I will come with you." "I think it
would be best if-"
Draka snarled. "I am Draka, daughter of Kelkar, son of Rhakish. I am your
intended, soon to be your life partner. You will not forbid me to accompany
you!"
Rise of the Horde
In the years that followed, the Frostwolves joined the new, united Horde's
war with the draenei at the behest of Ner'zhul, and Durotan and Draka were wed.
The clan did their best to believe Nerzhul's claim that the strange,
blue-skinned creatures who had never really brought any harm to any orc were
secretly plotting against them. But as much as she wanted to, Draka didn't
really trust Ner'zhul, and confessed this to Durotan -- who wasn't exactly
certain about the elder shaman's motives himself. As time passed and more
violence broke out between the orcs and draenei, the shaman of the clan began to
lose their link with the elements that brought them aid -- and Draka knew that
this was more than a sign. It was flat-out evidence that what they were doing
was wrong.
Yet there was little that she and Durotan could actually do about the
situation. The rest of the orcish clans had united -- how could one clan hope to
stand against the united might of all others? The now-powerless shaman of the
clans listened eagerly, attentively as Gul'dan, Ner'zhul's apprentice, provided
a demonstration of a new kind of power. Dark magic, the likes of which had never
been seen before. Warlock magic. Over Draka's protests, over her insistence that
something was wrong, Durotan allowed Drek'thar to learn these strange new ways.
She could only stand by Durotan's side and watch as Blackhand was elected
Warchief.
She continued to stand by Durotan's side as he was asked to do the
unthinkable -- betray the draenei that had saved him when he was young, wipe out
the settlement he had been shown in trust. She stood by his side as they watched
the lands around them fall to ruin and despair, as the brown skin of the orcs
peeled and flaked away, revealed strange, green skin beneath. And she stood,
resolute and proud by his side as he denied the "blessing" of the mighty
Kil'jaeden, and refused the Blood of Mannoroth to himself, his family, and his
clan.
None knew Durotan better than Draka. No one else understood the conflict, the
struggle behind every decision Durotan made. None knew the sorrow, the doubt,
the discomfort behind his eyes better than his chosen mate. And although she
could do nothing about the inevitable downfall of the orcs, Draka could, at the
very least, stand tall at her husband's side. Even in his darkest hours, Durotan
knew that he was never truly alone.
Thrall
It was likely with both joy and sorrow that Draka realized she was with
child. Joy, because a child is a joyous thing, sorrow, for knowing what that
child was about to be born into. The orcs had passed through the Dark Portal
into this strange, new Azeroth -- and the Frostwolf clan had been exiled shortly
after to the harsh frozen mountains of Alterac. They lived on, but life was far
from easy. Fortunately, Draka knew in great detail just how hard life could be
-- and how to thrive in spite of it. The child was born, a fine, strong son to
lead the Frostwolf clan after Durotan was gone. And on one fateful day,
observing both mate and son, Durotan made one of the last decisions he would
ever make.
He could no longer bear to watch the rest of the orc clans dutifully follow
Gul'dan, watch them wallow in the depths of the evil that Gul'dan had brought to
their kind. His son deserved more than that, his mate deserved more, the orcish
race deserved more. Durotan decided that night to travel to Orgrim Doomhammer,
his childhood friend, and tell him what he knew of Gul'dan, the Shadow Council,
and the corruption of the orcish race. From there, he hoped that more clans
would learn, until all could unite against Gul'dan and the old ways, the better
ways would return.
"You shall not go alone, my mate," said Draka, her soft voice a sharp
contrast to the ear-splitting sound of Durotan's Oath Cry. "We shall come with
you." "I forbid it." And with a suddenness that startled even Durotan, who ought
to have known better, Draka sprang to her feet. The crying baby tumbled from her
lap as she clenched her fists and raised them, shaking them violently. A
heartbeat later Durotan blinked as pain shot through him and blood dripped down
his face. She had bounded the length of the cave and slashed his cheek with her
nails. "I am Draka, daughter of Kelkar, son of Rhakish. No one forbids me to
follow my mate, not even Durotan himself! I come with you, I stand by you, I
shall die if need be. Pagh!" She spat at him.
He loved Draka more in that moment than ever before -- and come with him she
did, all the way to Doomhammer's field camp. Durotan delivered his message, and
it seemed at last that the orcish race had a glimmer of hope, for Doomhammer
believed Durotan's words. After listening to the tale, Orgrim sent both Durotan
and Draka away, escorted by one of his own personal guard. They wouldn't be
safe, staying in Doomhammer's camp -- when the time was right, Doomhammer would
stand by their side, and Gul'dan would fall. But that time never came to
pass.
Draka, daughter of Kelkar, fierce and strong, fought tooth and nail against
Gul'dan's assassins, but this last battle was one that she could not win.
Overwhelmed, she died -- as did Durotan, their infant son left to howl his
misery in the forest until the wild creatures tore him to bits. Their son would
never have his naming day. Instead, he was found by a human and taken in, raised
as a gladiator, later escaping to become the savior of the orcish race and the
new Warchief of the Horde. The infant defied all expectations, avoiding certain
death and instead growing up healthy, clever, and strong. A warrior, a leader, a
shaman that strove to re-ignite the ways of old.
Draka would have been unspeakably proud.
In Warlords of Draenor, Thrall will finally meet both mother and father on a
world in which fate has been utterly changed. In this version of reality, they
have no son, and the orcish race never fell to the Legion's corruption. How will
they react to the son that never was, to his strange appearance, his green skin
and his wild stories of futures that never were? We'll see in the new expansion
whether Thrall will be accepted with open arms, and if Draka's fury lives
on.
Lore
