The stench of death laying over The Swallowing Bogs of The Hungering Steppe were familiar to Lord-Aquilor Lucina Chromsdottir. The stench of a Sludgeraker Beast compounding that, however, was not. Bor Goadfist, Boss Prime of the Bogswallow Marauders, seemed to delight in knowing the Stormcast’s discomfort as he leered down at her from atop the foul-smelling swamp creature.
Despite the deliberately discomforting choice of location for their meeting, the Lord-Aquilor maintained a measure of serenity, guarded by the ornamental mask she’d donned for the occasion. Her plumed helmet remained at The Stormwolf Bastion; instead, intricate and tight braids crowned her head. Her midnight blue armor had been polished, the gold trim around her pauldrons gleaming in the pale light of the Ghurish afternoon. Her gryph-charger had carried her carefully through the swamp, sure-footed enough to succeed in not maring the Lord-Aquilor’s glistening armaments with even a drop of bogwater. The lesser hobgrots, astride their insectoid mounts, eyed the Stormcast’s armor hungrily. As she suspected, even Bor’s ruthless minions couldn’t keep their greed in check. Instead, watching them would be a contingent of Vanguard-Palladors, who hadn’t taken the same preparations as their commander. Only one star was needed to shine in the heart of The Swallowing Bogs.
Bor leaned down to speak. “Pleasure ya could make it, Miss.”
“Lord-Aquilor.” Lucina corrected.
“Roight, roight, Lard-Aquila.” The hobgrots snickered around their Boss. “And ya didn’ have mucha problems wit’ da Bogs, didya? For yer sake, I hope you didn’.”
The Lord-Aquilor could see through the hobgrot’s feigned concern and paid no heed to the insult to her station. “I had little trouble reaching this location, Boss Prime.”
“Well, tha’s good. Y’know these swamps-”
“With all due respect, Boss Prime, I believe we have more pressing business to attend to.” The Lord-Aquilor knew Bor was trying to waste her time, under the guise of some vain effort to appear courteous and sociable. Bor leaned back a little in his saddle, recognizing the Stormcast was not so polite as to let him talk her in circles. Lucina didn’t break eye contact. “My allies in The Wolves of Sigmar discovered one of your trading caravans moving unauthorized through Ghurneth territory in The Plains and uncovered powdered amberstone.”
Bor’s steed seemed to snort in response to the accusation on its master’s behalf. “So what if they did?”
Lucina hardened her tone. “You know perhaps better than I do the risk of transporting such a material, and out of the Realm, no less. According to the manifests found amongst your ilk, these shipments were heading to Aqshy, correct?” She deliberately named the wrong Realm.
“Aqshy? Nah! There ain’t no good business there. Now, Hysh, tha’s…” Bor trailed off, realizing the Stormcast’s ploy a little too late.
“Of course, Hysh. I do recall correctly, now; that is what the manifests stated.” Lucina allowed herself the smallest of smirks. “So, you are aware of these activities?”
Bor openly snarled, knowing he’d be caught if he tried to lie. “Yeh, I am.”
“I’ve come to issue a warning, then, Boss Prime.” Lucina declared. “As a representative of The Ghurneth of Packhome, I must insist that you refrain from transporting your dangerous goods through their territory upon The Plains of The Hungering Steppe.”
Bor leaned back towards her again, still sneering and gripping the reins of his Sludgeraker tightly. “No can do, Stormling. See, da Realmgate we used ta have here has gone an’ broke. We has ta go through da Plains if we’re gonna get our gubbins where they needs ta go.”
“If that is true, then you may seek an audience with The Council in Packhome to negotiate a trade route through their territory. No need for violence or conquest.” The Lord-Aquilor could sense the rising aggression from the hobgrots. A few feathers of her gryph-charger twitched. Perhaps the energies of Ghur were beginning to affect her, too; Lucina could hear her tone rising.
“Bah!” spat Bor. “Takes too much time and time is money! Stuffy Ghurneth would want us ta go da long way.”
Lucina flashed a snarl of her own. “I must insist, Boss Prime.” she repeated.
Bor roared in reply, “No one bosses around da Boss! Get ‘er, lads!”
The Lord-Aquilor’s gryph-charger squawked and leapt out of the way of an incoming net. In the brief moments where the waters of The Swallowing Bogs churned, Lucina took stock of the approaching hobgrots. She ordered a retreat back into the treeline. Poisoned darts and spears chased the Vanguard-Palladors as they fled, as did the laughter of their enemy.
Once within adequate cover, the Lord-Aquilor surveyed the damage. Only surface wounds, it seems. None of her number had fallen yet, but she knew the danger of the enemy’s swamp-borne poisons. If she was to counterattack, she’d have to do so quickly if she were to also have enough time to reach a location where her allies’ wounds could be treated. She wheeled her mount back in the direction of the cackling hobgrots, drawing her starbound blade. The Vanguard-Palladors responded in kind, lowering their starstrike javelins. Their preparations were silent. They would strike swiftly and be gone, hopefully hitting hard enough to prove the ferocity of the defenders of Packhome.
With a thrust of her blade, The Children of The End Times darted forward, appearing to strider across the watery surface of the bogs, rather than the unstable ground beneath. The hobgrots’ laughter was replaced with shrieks as they spotted their approaching doom. From atop his Sludgeraker Beast, Bor sneered and uncorked a bottle full of captured swamp mist to cover his escape. The Stormcast had little intention of attacking the Warlord himself, instead far more satisfied with carving apart a number of his minions.
The exchange was over in seconds. Skewered hobgrots and their insectoid mounts floated on the surface of The Swallowing Bogs, soon to add their corpses to its decaying floor. Heedless of their carnage, the Stormcast continued to charge, heading for Packhome, back to those who needed to be protected from whatever disaster was to come.
