Rondhol never sleeps. It is always hungry, always on the prowl, never satisfied. Those denizens that crawl atop it, that scratch away at its skin, that attempt to tame its rivers, that blast its mountains, that creep and war and crawl and burn continually irritate it until it thrashes back. And when it does, the destruction that occurs is felt by all, is feared by all. That isn’t happening, yet.
On the day the sky fell, those denizens who deemed it possible to look up from their survival long enough saw long lines of brilliance burn through the evening sky. The battle above the continent, that a number had noted, had evidently come to a superheated end as the Seraphon ship, the Xarlanth, irradiated the atmosphere above Rondhol – creating auroras that blotted out the stars in the purple night with their glow.
The many sections of this ship is what crashed into Rondhol, blistering its hide and causing all to tremble in apprehension of the reactions of a continent. In some places it pulled away at the pain, pulling the debris into itself in an attempt to smother with dirt and rock and snow. In other places the jungles themselves rose up in anger, suffocating the flames in bark and leaf, and the fire and the forest fought bitterly. Above all else, though, Rondhol is known for it’s predatory rivers, and so it came as no surprise that it was the tributaries themselves that did the most work; quenching flame and driving the destroyed remains away from their craters.
Much of the Xarlanth rained down into the Furyoth Dell, a site that is already eyed by many adventurers, warlords, and treasure seekers. Now, the site is unavoidably seductive – the void ship, out in the open as it were, being much more tangible then half-forgotten, mostly-hidden treasures.
And yet, due to a single missive, the city of Khardihr stalled at immediately sending every mercenary, entrepreneur, or explorer it had. A certain Sorrah Nikos had just been in touch with the Council claiming to be not only a survivor of the fall of Civilia, but in fact leading a small collection of survivors in the now water-logged ruin. Nikos had called for aid; claiming that a crashed section of the seraphon ship had broken through the magics that had kept them prisoners, but that they now found themselves at the mercy of pirates and other miscreants. The timing could not be worse. With the city poised between Civilia’s Ruin and the Dell, the decision on where the city should travel has become a hot topic of conversation within the Council while every other decision got put to the side. Of course, the residents of the city that have means of transport are not so laden with responsibility, and ships of various sizes have flown in both directions in the hopes that support via the city itself will soon follow.
East of the city the balance of power is shifting much closer to the ground. Da Choppas have been participating in a massive brawl with those orruks that stayed in the area when Gordrakk and Skragrott passed through. The surrounding forest had been stripped bare weeks ago to create increasingly elaborate barges to ride the raging rivers into combat, only to see most burned and destroyed. The standstill had lasted weeks, until, at last something unpredictable indeed occurred. Azdrakk, a shaman that had risen the ranks of Gordrakk’s leftovers, was in the midst of calling out to Gork when he raised his green eyes to the sky to see the answer that his god was to give him. The ensorcelled section of a void blaster took the shaman through the face – leaving his twitching body upright in the middle of an arcane detonation that boiled the magics of the realmgate with seraphon weaponry, orruk blood, and Waaagh! energies. The result was obliteration of half the field of battle, and a massive portion of the survivors forcibly imbued with ghurish magic. Ka-rokk, overboss of Da Choppas has now walked away from the altercation with significantly more battle-hardened warriors under his charge, and his best warriors fanged, covered in fur, and as insane as ever. Without hesitation, before the energies of the Waaagh! are displaced, he is turning his increased force toward a new enemy – that of the pirates sailing up the rivers flying the flag of Khrovar Blackmaw.
Those same flags have been seen increasingly throughout the continent’s shores. Much to the chagrin of House of Vermillio, Blackmaw’s followers have been plaguing the Svlind, disrupting the trade lines that line the family’s pockets, pillaging settlements, and sinking any vessels they came across. Blackmaw’s followers were not the only ones, the Vermillios knew of a fleet of Rotbringers and at least one floating township of skaven as well (though, knowing the skaven, there is likely to be more). News has also reached the city of barges lined with greenskins, exiting the rivers that they had preferred to sail, and instead make for open seas. All that said, it was Blackmaw that had predominantly disrupted the aqua ghyranis, coin, and treasure, and as such, the House of Vermillio have been forced to call in some favours. Lord Haddrik Carminnio, prime navigator of the Dread Myriad fleet, seems to be their answer to this particular problem. Blackmaw flags have now been seen in combat with the Dread Myriad throughout the Svlind, only increasing the volatility of the entire region.
And so a continent shivers – as war settles in yet again. As warriors clash and armies trample the ground, as sails are lit aflame while forest, fang, and claw bite back at invaders. The revenge of Rondhol draws nigh – as stars rain down and blood drenches the soil.
