Ku’tok-notoc crept through the jungle, leaping between branch, shadow, and brush as he followed the Burning Templars through the Dell. As the scout snuck through the dense foliage he couldn’t help but feel a sense of disgust at what he was witnessing.
The Templars marched forward, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. The forest was burning behind them, and the skink could see the smoke rising into the sky. The sound of battle echoed through the trees, and Ku’tok-notoc could see flashes of light and magic as Sytarith and her followers clashed with the Knights – those horrid creatures that did the foul bidding of this new threat to the land.
Despite his horror at the Templars’ tactics, Ku’tok-notoc felt no sympathy for the Fae. He knew that they were just as ruthless in their own way, using the Amber Blood to control the monsters of the jungle and further their own agenda. What that agenda was had alluded many so far, but the Seraphon were not so dense. It was clear the Fae cared not for the repercussions of the extraction of the Amber Blood – sure they seemed content to use the events to their advantage, but it was the Blood itself they were truly after.
As the battle raged on, Ku’tok-notoc noticed something strange happening. As the Templars approached a particularly dense patch of jungle, the creatures within seemed to calm down. Even the flames of the burning trees seemed to flicker and die, as if the very earth was rejecting the violence. Even from so far away Ku’tok-notoc could see why, the Templars were returning the Blood back to the ground, breaking the canisters, relics, and vials that the Knights carried with them to battle.
Ku’tok-notoc was a devout believer in the Great Plan, but even this stretched his belief, followers of the dark gods doing the exact same thing the Seraphon had been instructed to do? Odd. He knew that he had important information to share – it was time to return. And so the skink turned heel, moving back the way he had come, back towards the leaders of his own contingent of Seraphon. He only had a single thing to do on his way back, and then he would be able to convey the information. And it wouldn’t take long, he just needed to see what those dark eyes were trying to say to him. They beckoned to him. It wouldn’t take long, and then he’d be done.
Wyrdsquig continued his whispering, even though his task was supposed to be complete. Da Choppas were still solidly making their way south, plans were in motion, the Waaagh! continued, unrelentingly. Honestly, Wyrdsquig couldn’t care less, as long as it was solidly away from the Dell, that’s all that mattered to him. And then news from Rondhol reached Ka-rokk, and he was forced to push hard against the orruk yet again.
Apparently some of the orruks left in Rondhol had continued the fight against the Fae. This Razgor and his Beastbreakas had found themselves fighting with the Sylvaneth that allied with the dark. Annoyingly they weren’t the only ones, other names also floated through the ranks to Ka-rokk – the likes of Urgoth, Durbok, and Dethmuttera being the most impressive. And Ka-rokk was pleased, of all things. Citing the fact that “his boyz” were “doin’ der bestest – krumpin and smashin the best things to smash”. The fact that they were not moving South didn’t seem to worry him, maybe because of the absolutely massive number of bodies that were, still, Wyrdsquig would have none of it. It took a solid day of sneaky work, but it was eventually done – grots were sent on their fastest snarlfangs with instructions (signed off by Ka-rokk, of course) to these resistant orruks to move south and discontinue their efforts in Rondhol. Maybe now Wyrdsquig could finally turn his eyes to something of greater worth, for the south called…
The night was dark and still, the only sound being the distant waves crashing against the shore. Two figures approached each other, their identities hidden beneath dark cloaks. They exchanged a silent nod and sat down on the wet grass facing each other staring into eyes dark in the black of night.
Their eyes spoke of the chaos that raged within the two cities, of the people who fought among themselves within those bastions. Spoke of the blood that washed through the flooded ruins and the words flung as knives in arcane-lit halls of government. The Brood had joined with the Knights and continued to encircle the prey. The eyes spoke of those that sailed the seas, of the captain that preferred to use the opportunity to steal and ravage the displaced. They spoke of the alliances they had formed, of the secrets they had uncovered. Yes, their sisters spoke of others returning the blood to the earth, but it would not be enough, not while they kept their prey in line. Finally they spoke of the colossal, the shackled creature so close to being released.
Most of it was going to plan, they need only continue, need only keep their prey within a knife-strike away. The whispering was enough, and the darkness continues to spread. The night was a good night, but the following nights would be even better.
And all the while, the jaws close in.
