Neither Anglermaw nor Hans truly understood what purpose these Elves truly sought from them, or what supposed importance their lives held for the future. These people were indeed a folk that spoke only in riddles, at least in part to those of lesser race. Even Falderan was considered a pariah to the pureblooded sailors, which the Student knew only so little of, as he lay brooding wide awake upon his hammock. Well, it wasn't actually his, and he wasn't alone either. Anglermaw chittered loudly beside him, wrapped within his worn, looted attire as he slept -- the Sea-Rat's glowing hookarm was luckily discarded onto the nearby floorboard. Hans could rest without fear of his eyes being accidentally gouged in his sleep. He'd been a fool to think that the Elves would simply donate twenty good beds out of sheer kindness. At least he didn't have to sleep on the floor, that hospitality was reserved for the Marienburgers; even the injured.
With a snivelling matted blanket of warmth beside him, Hans slowly dozed from the waking world, ignorant to the whispers of venom that spat from the mouths of the discontented Sailors of both Human and Elven ilk.
Vanderbarzen was lucky; of all the Human folk aboard the ship, his quarters were the most cushy, rested within a silken, rose bedding which was clearly meant for more than one body. But this generous comfort that the Elves had donated mattered less than Rat dung to the furious Marienburger. No longer was he Captain, his heroic downfall denied by a bunch of prissy, pointy eared knaves who would no doubt gloat of their act of bravery to Vanderbarzen himself. It had been said throughout the Empire that the men of Marienburg were a shameless lot, but Vanderbarzen felt a deep dissonance more painful than even the bandaged wounds that would become two more scratches upon his tally of scars.
Vanderbarzen himself was woken early on by the morning tropical sun, but it was the stark image of a sleeping curvaceous figure - half concealed by her almost transparent quilt - that caused him to thrust into the realm of lucidity. He quickly sprung out the bed like a Man-sized flea, slung on his uniform and waited by the balcony for the others to awake. Of course, the woman was undoubtedly voluptous and one of a kind as far as a Marienburger was concered, but scandal was something that the former Captain did not seek at this time, should the Elves become rightlfully offended. Lustria's exotic coastline was clear to behold, as though the tumultuous storm of yesterday's zombie raid was little more than some distant nightmare. The lush array of shaded green over the beaches that was the entrance into Lustria's jungle belied the constant danger of death within. A forest where even the very grass could puncture into the heavy sole of a knightly boot.
Behind him, a few subtle creaks of the mast groaned upon his ears, and Vanderbarzen swished his head back in reaction like a certain rodent. To his relief, it was merely a mustering of the now woken sailors. Figures of both Cothique and Marienburg origin soon emerged from within the bowels of the Dove-ship, and he could not help but cringe as the Elven maiden he'd woken to find joined the crowd of gatherers, alongside a tall figure bearing a lunar staff and clad almost entirely in purple.
"I hope I get my own bed if we find refuge in the jungle." Mused a yawning Hans, pawing at his crusted eyes. "I barely slept a few hours last night, no thanks to you, Anglermaw."
"Oh, so little Brunswick is getting mouthy now-now, yeah?" Returned the Sea-Rat, his well rested mind snuffed any spite from his usuall vindictive Skaven mind. Sartosa had changed the Skurvy Rat in more ways than one. "You'll be crying like a pup once your arm gets caught by a jungle nettle."
Vanderbarzen cared little for their banter, and strangely enough, the two of them would find eachother's presence quite amicable. But the Siren's Captain felt ashamed by the loss of his ship -- distraught by the real fact that he still drew breath and was not the thrall of some eccentric amazon necromancer. He turned his face toward the green hell and gnashed his teeth while he recognised Falderan, whom he held as partly responsible for the Siren's demise.
--
"Celedron, are you entirely certain of your choice to leave our vessel." Aelthalia asked of her loremaster, in the native Asur tongue. "I trust in your wisdom, but that Ark the Skaven speaks of, you put your life at stake merely to contain it."
With a snivelling matted blanket of warmth beside him, Hans slowly dozed from the waking world, ignorant to the whispers of venom that spat from the mouths of the discontented Sailors of both Human and Elven ilk.
Vanderbarzen was lucky; of all the Human folk aboard the ship, his quarters were the most cushy, rested within a silken, rose bedding which was clearly meant for more than one body. But this generous comfort that the Elves had donated mattered less than Rat dung to the furious Marienburger. No longer was he Captain, his heroic downfall denied by a bunch of prissy, pointy eared knaves who would no doubt gloat of their act of bravery to Vanderbarzen himself. It had been said throughout the Empire that the men of Marienburg were a shameless lot, but Vanderbarzen felt a deep dissonance more painful than even the bandaged wounds that would become two more scratches upon his tally of scars.
Vanderbarzen himself was woken early on by the morning tropical sun, but it was the stark image of a sleeping curvaceous figure - half concealed by her almost transparent quilt - that caused him to thrust into the realm of lucidity. He quickly sprung out the bed like a Man-sized flea, slung on his uniform and waited by the balcony for the others to awake. Of course, the woman was undoubtedly voluptous and one of a kind as far as a Marienburger was concered, but scandal was something that the former Captain did not seek at this time, should the Elves become rightlfully offended. Lustria's exotic coastline was clear to behold, as though the tumultuous storm of yesterday's zombie raid was little more than some distant nightmare. The lush array of shaded green over the beaches that was the entrance into Lustria's jungle belied the constant danger of death within. A forest where even the very grass could puncture into the heavy sole of a knightly boot.
Behind him, a few subtle creaks of the mast groaned upon his ears, and Vanderbarzen swished his head back in reaction like a certain rodent. To his relief, it was merely a mustering of the now woken sailors. Figures of both Cothique and Marienburg origin soon emerged from within the bowels of the Dove-ship, and he could not help but cringe as the Elven maiden he'd woken to find joined the crowd of gatherers, alongside a tall figure bearing a lunar staff and clad almost entirely in purple.
"I hope I get my own bed if we find refuge in the jungle." Mused a yawning Hans, pawing at his crusted eyes. "I barely slept a few hours last night, no thanks to you, Anglermaw."
"Oh, so little Brunswick is getting mouthy now-now, yeah?" Returned the Sea-Rat, his well rested mind snuffed any spite from his usuall vindictive Skaven mind. Sartosa had changed the Skurvy Rat in more ways than one. "You'll be crying like a pup once your arm gets caught by a jungle nettle."
Vanderbarzen cared little for their banter, and strangely enough, the two of them would find eachother's presence quite amicable. But the Siren's Captain felt ashamed by the loss of his ship -- distraught by the real fact that he still drew breath and was not the thrall of some eccentric amazon necromancer. He turned his face toward the green hell and gnashed his teeth while he recognised Falderan, whom he held as partly responsible for the Siren's demise.
--
"Celedron, are you entirely certain of your choice to leave our vessel." Aelthalia asked of her loremaster, in the native Asur tongue. "I trust in your wisdom, but that Ark the Skaven speaks of, you put your life at stake merely to contain it."
The Elves stood in front of everyone and spoke in their native tongue. A mystical language that came over a magical and light to the ears of anyone who heard it. Giving a reassuring nod to Aelthalia Celedron replied in a silky tone.
"From what I have seen this threat is one we cannot allow time to fester. An open wound of the ruinous power of plague that has somehow found the ability to use the Skaven's own weaponry and been accepted as their leader." Speaking in a tongue only the Elves would hear and in a tone only Aelthalia cold truly hear the whole of he made his position known. "Word got back to the High Loremaster himself. They're moving in Saphery mages to assist but we don't know when as the magical cleanup from the horrific infections spread through Caledor has begun in earnest." He gives a sorrowful sigh. "It is our duty to defend against the powers of Chaos in Aenarion's name and great legacy. I can't sit idly by and allow this power to grow. If I can at least delay it. Then so be it." His gaze shifted to the approaching crew, specifically Anglermaw and company. "And they are our greatest leads for insight." He turns to face them.
The guards around the deck stamp their spears as Celedron addresses them in his decent Reikspiel. However the lack of an accent makes it somewhat off.
"As we had discussed earlier our goals are the same. Much like you somehow we tracked it here so have we. The jungles of Lustria are where we make land. Moving outside the regular coastline stalked by the Vampire Coast we should be able to make landfall with some of the forces we have." Fal steps forward.
"If we're gonna move here why not go to one of the colony ports further North?" He asks while having his own ideas in mind. Celedron gives him a stern gaze.
"Distance. The time it would take to walk through the jungles from one such colony of yours or even ours would add days onto the trip. Days we don't have." Another voice riles up.
"Why're we going inland to find a ship?" Asks one of the Marianbergers confused.
"Simply put we're after something from it that has moved in land. We have been following it through some source that radiates power. That source is now in the Jungles. Very likely to be whatever magic user is in control of it. The vessel itself cannot be tracked now. My beacon to it has gone inland and so shall we. I tell you this as now we are on the same side." He stamps his staph in the ground and with a stern tone looks to shore. "We land within the hour." Fal is rather surprised. They were told this large amount of information and felt rather tense. Now they would wait till landfall as preparations are made to land on the beach.
"From what I have seen this threat is one we cannot allow time to fester. An open wound of the ruinous power of plague that has somehow found the ability to use the Skaven's own weaponry and been accepted as their leader." Speaking in a tongue only the Elves would hear and in a tone only Aelthalia cold truly hear the whole of he made his position known. "Word got back to the High Loremaster himself. They're moving in Saphery mages to assist but we don't know when as the magical cleanup from the horrific infections spread through Caledor has begun in earnest." He gives a sorrowful sigh. "It is our duty to defend against the powers of Chaos in Aenarion's name and great legacy. I can't sit idly by and allow this power to grow. If I can at least delay it. Then so be it." His gaze shifted to the approaching crew, specifically Anglermaw and company. "And they are our greatest leads for insight." He turns to face them.
The guards around the deck stamp their spears as Celedron addresses them in his decent Reikspiel. However the lack of an accent makes it somewhat off.
"As we had discussed earlier our goals are the same. Much like you somehow we tracked it here so have we. The jungles of Lustria are where we make land. Moving outside the regular coastline stalked by the Vampire Coast we should be able to make landfall with some of the forces we have." Fal steps forward.
"If we're gonna move here why not go to one of the colony ports further North?" He asks while having his own ideas in mind. Celedron gives him a stern gaze.
"Distance. The time it would take to walk through the jungles from one such colony of yours or even ours would add days onto the trip. Days we don't have." Another voice riles up.
"Why're we going inland to find a ship?" Asks one of the Marianbergers confused.
"Simply put we're after something from it that has moved in land. We have been following it through some source that radiates power. That source is now in the Jungles. Very likely to be whatever magic user is in control of it. The vessel itself cannot be tracked now. My beacon to it has gone inland and so shall we. I tell you this as now we are on the same side." He stamps his staph in the ground and with a stern tone looks to shore. "We land within the hour." Fal is rather surprised. They were told this large amount of information and felt rather tense. Now they would wait till landfall as preparations are made to land on the beach.
"We 'ad twenty-five good men before those monsters boarded the Siren -- we're down to a third now." A Marienburger commented beside Vanderbarzen, gazing alongside his once dignified toward the palisade of green that awaited them once the Dove-ship had taken port. "Gods only know what's waiting for the rest of us in those trees."
"Did ye see what 'appened to Igor?" Another voice interjected, far nasally than the former; likely blighted by last night's storm. Regardless, both were full of bubbling dread for their lives. "He got too close to that Vampire, had the life sucked right outta him. Didn't even have to bite his neck either, 'e just breathed in and... -and..."
"Will you two shape up for Ulric's sake?!" Hissed the frustrated Vanderbarzen after crashing his fist upon the balcony, startling them both. The two sailors froze for a moment, surveying their master's wretched scowl. "Joel Broen-Orcbane! Willy the Braybasher! Frightened by a bunch of drowned shells, what a joke!"
"You'd be smart to fear the jungle too, my friend." An Elven voice joined. Serchil oversaw the three figures watching the rich canopy -- there was a grin emerging upon his lips, the sharp features of his face and the sourness of his temprement only worsened Vanderbarzen's first opinions of this shimmering buffoon of a Sea Elf, as the former Captain of the Siren reared his head toward the colours of Cothique. "Not even Sigmar would dare venture into Lustria on his own if he knew what terrors awaited."
"We're Marienburgers Elf, we're not even part of Sigmar's realm." Spat Vanderbarzen, eyeing Serchil like a wild beast surveys it's quarry, ready for a scrap.
--
From the outside, this beach of the New World seemed like a paradise; an untouched, unblighted place in the sun. It was no wonder that the burgeoning rays of the clear morning pierced the eyes of Hans unlike any sky that hovered above the Empire. He and Anglermaw were not joined by Falderan, but by the Engineer from yesterday, who had chided the Sea-Rat for his tongue. It would seem that Geltroff himself felt a sense of camaraderie in the presence of his ancestral kinspeople, even if they viewed his being upon their immaculate vessel as a curse that was to be ridden. The Asur were known for their hushed slander; they would not insult the mongrel outright -- he was of some use to them, after all. Lustria would take care of these newcomers, Cadai be willing.
"Beautiful from the outside, isn't it?" Commented the Engineer as he kept watch of his companions, the words of Aelthalia and the Loremaster nearby were clear to his ears, but he didn't bother to translate them for his uneducated brethren. "Beyond that cape is world almost completely hidden to the bounds of civilization. You'd never expect that within the Green Hell, home to terrible beasts, there does indeed stand a plethora of nations."
"Nations of whom, Mister Indras?" Wondered Hans in reply.
"Lizards, Brunswick. A nation of Lizardmen. Guardians of order and balance. Sworn enemies of chaos, but hardly a race to consider our friends." Explained the Engineer. The mention of these 'Lizardmen' was a complete revelation to Hans. He'd heard tales from Captain Vanderbarzen upon the Siren about an old man's tale involving 'Lizards that walked upright,' but a nation, a centralized government hidden amidst the jungle. He'd only just heard of the Skaven, truth be told, and had come to the realization that a bulging empire of bipedal Rats strove to invade the entire world merely a few miles underground. Nothing could shake him now, not with what he had come to understand.
"I have but one instruction for you both." A solemn Indras began.
"An' what that be-be, eh?" Asked Anglermaw, sharing in Hans' curiosity.
"Never cross the Lizardmen... I cannot stress this enough." Indras' voice was laden with premonitive unease as he spoke, as though he already had some grasp of the terror that was yet to come. "The Skaven may gnaw at your bones, Harkon's thralls may raise your corpse as puppets for their amusement. You may find yourself captured by the Amazons, gang-raped to breed future warriors and then sacrificed upon a pyre to honour the Old Ones, but never cross the Lizardmen. Because if you do, the entire jungle will become your immediate foe, and your quest for the Ark will end in utter futility."
Anglermaw merely wretched at the thought 'Lizard-things, jus' fodder for Skrolk's host.' His mind stung with the ache of a skirmish with the cold-blooded creatures. But Indras was right, for the jungle was no struggle for it's natives to navigate. Anglermaw hated the jungle, much preferring the sea, where all was clear for his keen eyes to behold. In Lustria, everything was hidden, regardless of whether the sun shone or not.
"W-we did recieve word from the Phoenix throne before we set sail." Aelthalia began as Celedron announced Saphery's actions in Caledor. "The fleet of Ulthuan is currently placed at a standstill for the moment; the Phoenix King's current focus is the stability of his realm."
"Did ye see what 'appened to Igor?" Another voice interjected, far nasally than the former; likely blighted by last night's storm. Regardless, both were full of bubbling dread for their lives. "He got too close to that Vampire, had the life sucked right outta him. Didn't even have to bite his neck either, 'e just breathed in and... -and..."
"Will you two shape up for Ulric's sake?!" Hissed the frustrated Vanderbarzen after crashing his fist upon the balcony, startling them both. The two sailors froze for a moment, surveying their master's wretched scowl. "Joel Broen-Orcbane! Willy the Braybasher! Frightened by a bunch of drowned shells, what a joke!"
"You'd be smart to fear the jungle too, my friend." An Elven voice joined. Serchil oversaw the three figures watching the rich canopy -- there was a grin emerging upon his lips, the sharp features of his face and the sourness of his temprement only worsened Vanderbarzen's first opinions of this shimmering buffoon of a Sea Elf, as the former Captain of the Siren reared his head toward the colours of Cothique. "Not even Sigmar would dare venture into Lustria on his own if he knew what terrors awaited."
"We're Marienburgers Elf, we're not even part of Sigmar's realm." Spat Vanderbarzen, eyeing Serchil like a wild beast surveys it's quarry, ready for a scrap.
--
From the outside, this beach of the New World seemed like a paradise; an untouched, unblighted place in the sun. It was no wonder that the burgeoning rays of the clear morning pierced the eyes of Hans unlike any sky that hovered above the Empire. He and Anglermaw were not joined by Falderan, but by the Engineer from yesterday, who had chided the Sea-Rat for his tongue. It would seem that Geltroff himself felt a sense of camaraderie in the presence of his ancestral kinspeople, even if they viewed his being upon their immaculate vessel as a curse that was to be ridden. The Asur were known for their hushed slander; they would not insult the mongrel outright -- he was of some use to them, after all. Lustria would take care of these newcomers, Cadai be willing.
"Beautiful from the outside, isn't it?" Commented the Engineer as he kept watch of his companions, the words of Aelthalia and the Loremaster nearby were clear to his ears, but he didn't bother to translate them for his uneducated brethren. "Beyond that cape is world almost completely hidden to the bounds of civilization. You'd never expect that within the Green Hell, home to terrible beasts, there does indeed stand a plethora of nations."
"Nations of whom, Mister Indras?" Wondered Hans in reply.
"Lizards, Brunswick. A nation of Lizardmen. Guardians of order and balance. Sworn enemies of chaos, but hardly a race to consider our friends." Explained the Engineer. The mention of these 'Lizardmen' was a complete revelation to Hans. He'd heard tales from Captain Vanderbarzen upon the Siren about an old man's tale involving 'Lizards that walked upright,' but a nation, a centralized government hidden amidst the jungle. He'd only just heard of the Skaven, truth be told, and had come to the realization that a bulging empire of bipedal Rats strove to invade the entire world merely a few miles underground. Nothing could shake him now, not with what he had come to understand.
"I have but one instruction for you both." A solemn Indras began.
"An' what that be-be, eh?" Asked Anglermaw, sharing in Hans' curiosity.
"Never cross the Lizardmen... I cannot stress this enough." Indras' voice was laden with premonitive unease as he spoke, as though he already had some grasp of the terror that was yet to come. "The Skaven may gnaw at your bones, Harkon's thralls may raise your corpse as puppets for their amusement. You may find yourself captured by the Amazons, gang-raped to breed future warriors and then sacrificed upon a pyre to honour the Old Ones, but never cross the Lizardmen. Because if you do, the entire jungle will become your immediate foe, and your quest for the Ark will end in utter futility."
Anglermaw merely wretched at the thought 'Lizard-things, jus' fodder for Skrolk's host.' His mind stung with the ache of a skirmish with the cold-blooded creatures. But Indras was right, for the jungle was no struggle for it's natives to navigate. Anglermaw hated the jungle, much preferring the sea, where all was clear for his keen eyes to behold. In Lustria, everything was hidden, regardless of whether the sun shone or not.
"W-we did recieve word from the Phoenix throne before we set sail." Aelthalia began as Celedron announced Saphery's actions in Caledor. "The fleet of Ulthuan is currently placed at a standstill for the moment; the Phoenix King's current focus is the stability of his realm."
Celedron took Aelthalia comment with a foreboding chuckle.
"After the Ark hit Ulthwan itself I doubt the Phoenix King will be willing to send the fleet out. We had a moment of weakness and if our enemies in the North know of it they'll strike. He's making the smart choice in holding off on sending out ships for now as he goes for stability." Celedron knew the situation and both political and military aspects of it. Where his knowledge was mostly with the arcane most Elves had good political and tactical know how. Especially those with the proper training like he and other Loremasters had. "Prepare our landing party and have a camp set up on the shore. You know the drill." He says remarkably casually as he leaves the Captains side and heads to a group of spearmen rallying nearby. The group consisted of a dozen. Fal kept watch over this. Only catching faint words in their conversation such as 'fleet' and 'Phoenix King' he could recognize. However most of the language and context was lost on him so he may have misheard.
As the morning continued over the course of the hour the crew were loaded into the smaller landing boats and rowed to the shoreline. As the Captain's ship weighed anchor a good hundred meters off shore supplies were gathered and trenches began to be dug to establish a crude but usable base camp on the shoreline. Tents were set up with regimental precision and troops were rallied by sargents. To accompany Celedron and the others into the jungle were two teams of spearmen. Each consisting of twelve Asur with the discipline and training to rival the best in the Empire. They were instructed to follow the orders of Celedron and keep an eye on the others. Specifically Falderan and Anglermaw. Other than these forces there were around fifty Elves on the beach. Forty were soldiers while ten were general crewman assisting with setting up the base camp. Digging a trench and setting up a basic barrier or pikes to deter potential attackers.
Fal and the others were rallied to join the Asur spearmen before anyone else could get in a word of complaint. They were all begrudgingly given their weapons and trusted enough to not use it on their reluctant allies. Celedron walks to Hans and address the nervous boy one on one as he pulls him aside.
"Now then Hans, that is your preferred name correct? Do you wish to follow us into the jungle and it's terrors? I know you're not a warrior and hold little information on our foe so I offer you a chance to stay behind. You may remain at the camp or back on the ship under the watchful eye or our guard. But I won't deny you the glory of following us if you wish. The choice is yours. Just know there are things in this jungle not even I could imagine." Falderan watched this wearily and all the while stood next to Anglermaw and the others of the Siren's crew.
"After the Ark hit Ulthwan itself I doubt the Phoenix King will be willing to send the fleet out. We had a moment of weakness and if our enemies in the North know of it they'll strike. He's making the smart choice in holding off on sending out ships for now as he goes for stability." Celedron knew the situation and both political and military aspects of it. Where his knowledge was mostly with the arcane most Elves had good political and tactical know how. Especially those with the proper training like he and other Loremasters had. "Prepare our landing party and have a camp set up on the shore. You know the drill." He says remarkably casually as he leaves the Captains side and heads to a group of spearmen rallying nearby. The group consisted of a dozen. Fal kept watch over this. Only catching faint words in their conversation such as 'fleet' and 'Phoenix King' he could recognize. However most of the language and context was lost on him so he may have misheard.
As the morning continued over the course of the hour the crew were loaded into the smaller landing boats and rowed to the shoreline. As the Captain's ship weighed anchor a good hundred meters off shore supplies were gathered and trenches began to be dug to establish a crude but usable base camp on the shoreline. Tents were set up with regimental precision and troops were rallied by sargents. To accompany Celedron and the others into the jungle were two teams of spearmen. Each consisting of twelve Asur with the discipline and training to rival the best in the Empire. They were instructed to follow the orders of Celedron and keep an eye on the others. Specifically Falderan and Anglermaw. Other than these forces there were around fifty Elves on the beach. Forty were soldiers while ten were general crewman assisting with setting up the base camp. Digging a trench and setting up a basic barrier or pikes to deter potential attackers.
Fal and the others were rallied to join the Asur spearmen before anyone else could get in a word of complaint. They were all begrudgingly given their weapons and trusted enough to not use it on their reluctant allies. Celedron walks to Hans and address the nervous boy one on one as he pulls him aside.
"Now then Hans, that is your preferred name correct? Do you wish to follow us into the jungle and it's terrors? I know you're not a warrior and hold little information on our foe so I offer you a chance to stay behind. You may remain at the camp or back on the ship under the watchful eye or our guard. But I won't deny you the glory of following us if you wish. The choice is yours. Just know there are things in this jungle not even I could imagine." Falderan watched this wearily and all the while stood next to Anglermaw and the others of the Siren's crew.
Vanderbarzen strode past the row of living statues as he paced around the beachhead, clutching at his wounds -- they had miraculously healed that very night. No stitches, no strange remedies, just some High Elven mumbo-jumbo before they splattered some clear rosewater upon his body as he barely clutched onto life. Serchil did not reply before the two of them made landfall, merely wandering off with a snide chuckle alongside his mates. The Elves had such punchable faces; it meant little to him that they had saved his life. His ugly Siren now lay scattered and drowned beneath a vampiric maelstrom. No longer was he a Captain, and the perpetual scowl etched upon his scarred face described his grief beyond any written verbosity. Vanderbarzen was always cruel, but that was not why he was respected among the Marienburgers; now he had lost that privilige, joining his greedy ilk among the rank and file.
Indras gave a sigh, standing beside Celedron as the Loremaster spoke of dangerous politics. "I do not envy the Seafarer's position." He said, notching the string of an oak crossbow that he himself had customised, emblazoned upon it's side was the Serpent of Cothique, etched in dazzling silver. "The Highborn of Ulthuan are hard to please and quick to offend. With Caledor's coast in upheaval, the Dragon Princes would be outraged if a ring of steel did not surround their homes." The Engineer continued. Indras was prized by the Cothiqan navy, for his skill and knowledge with ballistae was so great, that he was comissioned by Aelthalia's own parents - themselves carrying a most prestigious history in sailing and naval warfare - to manufacture such an elegant machine of death upon the Dove-ship. Indras' never held any true love for his craftsmanship, however. His drive to build was spurred by greed alone, and he cared little for the reputation of Aelthalia's kin, knowing full well her position as Captain was puppeteered by nepotism thanks to the influence of her family.
He dared not speak on this matter, in truth. Aelthalia was untested, but her warm and honey-sweet demanour had melted the hearts of many an Asur sailor, including First Mate Serchil, who thought himself a suitor. 'The impure one had more chance.' Indras mused in silence, fixating his sight upon Falderan, bumbling beside a curious Anglermaw like two confused dogs.
Hans stood estranged from his fellow vagrants, he was alone when Celedron had approached him, with nought on his person but his sword and a small clay cup of clear water, which - like all Elven crockery - was of modest and delicate fashion. Any notes he had once made upon his journey were lost to the bloodshed at Sartosa. With the current events at hand, he lacked the inspiration to continue them further -- his mind instead clouded by aching thoughts of his family back home, who most likely considered him dead.
"I-I...-" Hans stuttered for a moment, stung by surprise as the purple figure approached. Indras stood by the both of them, curious as to the boy's intentions. Hans wasn't much to behold in the Engineer's mind, merely a lost soul caught in the wrong place at the worst time. But the brutal reality of the Old World often lead to certain 'fissures' within the status quo; Indras wondered for a moment if this young son of the Empire was yet another incarnation of El Cadavo, or something far more virtuous. No one came to Lustria for a mere tour.
"I'll come with you -- I'm not afraid." Replied the Student, putting down his cup beside a shelf on the newly fashioned palisade. "I've found out too much to simply feel comfortable laying around. If I stay, I'll just be waiting to die. In truth, I'd rather explore. It's what I wanted originally, I'll continue for my family's sake."
Indras gave a bow of respect, which was more honour that the Asur were willing to spare most foreigners. "Braver than you look, Hans. Better still, perhaps more crazy than you seem." He chuckled, turning his back toward the other vagrants. The Marienburgers had been armed with proper, more effective weaponry, but were not given the same livery as their Cothiqan peers. Serchil himself had insisted to the men that Asur armour was as a worn furnace within the Lustrian humidity. This was a blatant lie however; Serchil despised these newcomers. Their lives were as precious as dirt in his vision, and Aelthalia had delegated leadership of the Marienburg militia to him, which did include Vanderbarzen.
"On the other hand, I'll be making sure my creations are kept greased and ready for any foe." Indras mentioned as he turned his face toward the Loremaster. Suddenly, his mood changed within an instant, his eyes became gloom ridden as they met with Celedron's own.
"How many of our kin do you intend to muster into the jungle? The two of us both know Lustria is a deathmarch, there will be blood." Indras muttered in the Asur tongue as they stood beside Hans.
Indras gave a sigh, standing beside Celedron as the Loremaster spoke of dangerous politics. "I do not envy the Seafarer's position." He said, notching the string of an oak crossbow that he himself had customised, emblazoned upon it's side was the Serpent of Cothique, etched in dazzling silver. "The Highborn of Ulthuan are hard to please and quick to offend. With Caledor's coast in upheaval, the Dragon Princes would be outraged if a ring of steel did not surround their homes." The Engineer continued. Indras was prized by the Cothiqan navy, for his skill and knowledge with ballistae was so great, that he was comissioned by Aelthalia's own parents - themselves carrying a most prestigious history in sailing and naval warfare - to manufacture such an elegant machine of death upon the Dove-ship. Indras' never held any true love for his craftsmanship, however. His drive to build was spurred by greed alone, and he cared little for the reputation of Aelthalia's kin, knowing full well her position as Captain was puppeteered by nepotism thanks to the influence of her family.
He dared not speak on this matter, in truth. Aelthalia was untested, but her warm and honey-sweet demanour had melted the hearts of many an Asur sailor, including First Mate Serchil, who thought himself a suitor. 'The impure one had more chance.' Indras mused in silence, fixating his sight upon Falderan, bumbling beside a curious Anglermaw like two confused dogs.
Hans stood estranged from his fellow vagrants, he was alone when Celedron had approached him, with nought on his person but his sword and a small clay cup of clear water, which - like all Elven crockery - was of modest and delicate fashion. Any notes he had once made upon his journey were lost to the bloodshed at Sartosa. With the current events at hand, he lacked the inspiration to continue them further -- his mind instead clouded by aching thoughts of his family back home, who most likely considered him dead.
"I-I...-" Hans stuttered for a moment, stung by surprise as the purple figure approached. Indras stood by the both of them, curious as to the boy's intentions. Hans wasn't much to behold in the Engineer's mind, merely a lost soul caught in the wrong place at the worst time. But the brutal reality of the Old World often lead to certain 'fissures' within the status quo; Indras wondered for a moment if this young son of the Empire was yet another incarnation of El Cadavo, or something far more virtuous. No one came to Lustria for a mere tour.
"I'll come with you -- I'm not afraid." Replied the Student, putting down his cup beside a shelf on the newly fashioned palisade. "I've found out too much to simply feel comfortable laying around. If I stay, I'll just be waiting to die. In truth, I'd rather explore. It's what I wanted originally, I'll continue for my family's sake."
Indras gave a bow of respect, which was more honour that the Asur were willing to spare most foreigners. "Braver than you look, Hans. Better still, perhaps more crazy than you seem." He chuckled, turning his back toward the other vagrants. The Marienburgers had been armed with proper, more effective weaponry, but were not given the same livery as their Cothiqan peers. Serchil himself had insisted to the men that Asur armour was as a worn furnace within the Lustrian humidity. This was a blatant lie however; Serchil despised these newcomers. Their lives were as precious as dirt in his vision, and Aelthalia had delegated leadership of the Marienburg militia to him, which did include Vanderbarzen.
"On the other hand, I'll be making sure my creations are kept greased and ready for any foe." Indras mentioned as he turned his face toward the Loremaster. Suddenly, his mood changed within an instant, his eyes became gloom ridden as they met with Celedron's own.
"How many of our kin do you intend to muster into the jungle? The two of us both know Lustria is a deathmarch, there will be blood." Indras muttered in the Asur tongue as they stood beside Hans.
Celedron gave a surprised smirk to Hans as he stood back. The boy was rather brave. Either through his own adrenaline fueled terror or honest to Isha courage. The boy clearly wanted to come and Celedron wouldn't stop him. He just hoped he wouldn't be a detriment in what he considered one of the three deadliest places in the world. As he stepped back Indras approached him and spoke of the numbers he would take.
"My retinue will consist of twenty four. Two teams of twelve and myself. I know of the dangers of this jungle which is why we take enough men to form a defensive formation but not enough to be slowed or attracted unwanted attention. Though we must use caution to avoid the local inhabitants." He gave a side eyed glance to the treeline. The squaking of birds and distant cries so far in the distance they were taken up by waves. But they could be noticed to a keen ear. Likely dangerous beasts but if they were aggressive or not was up in the air.
Fal remained by Anglermaw, trusting the rat far less then he could throw him. He had been given his pistol by Fal who had it given back to him by the Asur.
"You are best to have this but you know what happens if a Human or Asur catches a bullet. I have no love for them either but I won't be picking them off in probably the worst place we've been so far." Fal gave a cautious look to the jungle. "Mainly only heard stories about this place. Sailed around the Northern regions. Near the Empire colonies." He stood up and admired the camp being put together with surprising efficiency. "Saw some skins of creatures there. I still can't believe them." He couldn't help but chuckle. He was sounding nervous. And in all fairness he was. Guess it was proof that he was still sane. "You ever been here? You sounded familiar?"
"My retinue will consist of twenty four. Two teams of twelve and myself. I know of the dangers of this jungle which is why we take enough men to form a defensive formation but not enough to be slowed or attracted unwanted attention. Though we must use caution to avoid the local inhabitants." He gave a side eyed glance to the treeline. The squaking of birds and distant cries so far in the distance they were taken up by waves. But they could be noticed to a keen ear. Likely dangerous beasts but if they were aggressive or not was up in the air.
Fal remained by Anglermaw, trusting the rat far less then he could throw him. He had been given his pistol by Fal who had it given back to him by the Asur.
"You are best to have this but you know what happens if a Human or Asur catches a bullet. I have no love for them either but I won't be picking them off in probably the worst place we've been so far." Fal gave a cautious look to the jungle. "Mainly only heard stories about this place. Sailed around the Northern regions. Near the Empire colonies." He stood up and admired the camp being put together with surprising efficiency. "Saw some skins of creatures there. I still can't believe them." He couldn't help but chuckle. He was sounding nervous. And in all fairness he was. Guess it was proof that he was still sane. "You ever been here? You sounded familiar?"
Anglermaw gave a slight crook of his beak, clutching the volatile weapon within his matted claws. "Nah, never touched this south-yeah." He replied, the tone and speed of his words far calmer now that the Ark was ever so close. "Only ever sailed this close to Lizard-Land when I was just'a clan rat, we 'ad a small skirmish with Clan Pestilens back then. Warp-stone as usual, but the claw-fleet was destroyed-routed when mutiny broke out before we'd even hit the beach. Claw-Captain a day, I tell ya, that's what Clan Skurvy is all about. We don't have proper admirals or fancy war leaders, 'cause they just keep walkin' the plank."
He holstered the warplock back into it's perculiar latch, humming with the evil resonance of raw chaos from the rudimentary leather. It was amazing how the material - likely fashioned from clandestine skin - held the firearm so tightly in place. The Sea-Rat paused for a moment, looking up to a pair of palm trees that stood parallel from one another upon opposite sides of a small hill of rock -- the leafy gates that lead the group toward a hidden world.
"Then I came along, yeah." He hacked a gobule of rancid spit after he spoke. "Became Admiral, yeah. Got mutineed as usual, same old Skurvy tricks. Now every clan's got a price on my 'ead, I bet. Ever heard 'o Clan Skyre by any chance? They can make huge guns and machines using this warpstone stuff; they built the Ark-yeah. They'll catch it's musk too, they'll try get the Ark back, just ya see."
After his conversation, Anglermaw took a deep whiff of the tropical air, the Ark's insidious musk had been dampened by this new, stuffy aroma, all in thanks to the wretched Lustrian humidity. Of course, this scent was arcane, unnatural. It would take more than the change in weather to still the rancid aura of the Ark.
"What do you think us lot will see once we enter the jungle, eh?" Lone footsteps followed in the silence of concentration, as Vanderbarzen joined the duo. The Marienburger's scowl had lightened somewhat, becalmed by the essence of his treasured flask. He gurned slightly at the sour taste, but a hiss of satisfaction escaped his tongue while he whisked the bottle back into his pocket. "You can call me just Lars from now on, I'm no Captain without my Siren."
"Monkeys, big Lizards, an' flowers thatta' melt your fur off." Anglermaw replied, glancing as he was dumbfounded by Vanderbarzen's sudden change in character. "Elf-things took yer men-yeah?"
"Indeed, the Marienburgers have found greener pastures an' better blades to cut with'
"Won't save them when Pestilens-Rats jump 'em from outta the jungle."
"Of course not, but it's best we make some reconcilations with eachother before we all die."
Vanderbarzen, or Lars as he was now called, gave a forboding snicker toward his peers, gazing with them toward the deadly waystone to another world. He bathed himself in the sound of exotic beasts, and his smirk subtly faded while he became wrapped by a hidden sense of dread of what was to soon approach. He would soon be experiencing those ghastly sailor stories firsthand, clouded with a sense of unease as to whether he would tell those tales to fresh meat years after this trek.
Or would he amount to becoming another statistic of Lustria -- just another skull upon the shelf of a hag's hovel.
"When do we begin?" Lars asked the two renegades, facing them both. "I don't like waiting when my life is at stake."
--
"Serchil told me to inform you, my Loremaster, that he will be standing guard by the encampment with the rest of the host." Said Indras, almost too informally in front of Hans, as he groaned at the presence of the First Mate. "I'll make sure his duty is keeping our watch up to standard, and that he is not busy courting the vessel's fair lady." The engineer chuckled. Hans felt a sense of trust in Indras; he seemed out of character from what he expected of the Asur. This fellow was far more laid back and amicable to the presence of outsiders. Indras explained much to the Student about the magical land of the Elves, educating him on the provinces of Ulthuan and their history while the Dove-ship made port. Eataine, Naggarythe, Saphery, even Cothique itself and more. The names of these lands whisped like sand across the loose net of Hans' mind, barely clutching at the tiny grains that stuck within his memory.
Indras' choice of language seemed sway with each passing sentence, speaking one moment in Eltharin, then another in the common Reikspiel, all in Celedron's presence. "Your host is getting restless." He noted toward the mustering of Marienburgers across the cliffside, waiting close by the original trio that stood. While Lars was no longer Captain, it was stark that the men of the Old World knew where their loyalties truly laid, much to Serchil's taste if he had seen -- he was too busy courting his forbidden crush to notice.
"Do we leave soon, Sir?" Hans asked, surveying the impatient host of dregs.
He holstered the warplock back into it's perculiar latch, humming with the evil resonance of raw chaos from the rudimentary leather. It was amazing how the material - likely fashioned from clandestine skin - held the firearm so tightly in place. The Sea-Rat paused for a moment, looking up to a pair of palm trees that stood parallel from one another upon opposite sides of a small hill of rock -- the leafy gates that lead the group toward a hidden world.
"Then I came along, yeah." He hacked a gobule of rancid spit after he spoke. "Became Admiral, yeah. Got mutineed as usual, same old Skurvy tricks. Now every clan's got a price on my 'ead, I bet. Ever heard 'o Clan Skyre by any chance? They can make huge guns and machines using this warpstone stuff; they built the Ark-yeah. They'll catch it's musk too, they'll try get the Ark back, just ya see."
After his conversation, Anglermaw took a deep whiff of the tropical air, the Ark's insidious musk had been dampened by this new, stuffy aroma, all in thanks to the wretched Lustrian humidity. Of course, this scent was arcane, unnatural. It would take more than the change in weather to still the rancid aura of the Ark.
"What do you think us lot will see once we enter the jungle, eh?" Lone footsteps followed in the silence of concentration, as Vanderbarzen joined the duo. The Marienburger's scowl had lightened somewhat, becalmed by the essence of his treasured flask. He gurned slightly at the sour taste, but a hiss of satisfaction escaped his tongue while he whisked the bottle back into his pocket. "You can call me just Lars from now on, I'm no Captain without my Siren."
"Monkeys, big Lizards, an' flowers thatta' melt your fur off." Anglermaw replied, glancing as he was dumbfounded by Vanderbarzen's sudden change in character. "Elf-things took yer men-yeah?"
"Indeed, the Marienburgers have found greener pastures an' better blades to cut with'
"Won't save them when Pestilens-Rats jump 'em from outta the jungle."
"Of course not, but it's best we make some reconcilations with eachother before we all die."
Vanderbarzen, or Lars as he was now called, gave a forboding snicker toward his peers, gazing with them toward the deadly waystone to another world. He bathed himself in the sound of exotic beasts, and his smirk subtly faded while he became wrapped by a hidden sense of dread of what was to soon approach. He would soon be experiencing those ghastly sailor stories firsthand, clouded with a sense of unease as to whether he would tell those tales to fresh meat years after this trek.
Or would he amount to becoming another statistic of Lustria -- just another skull upon the shelf of a hag's hovel.
"When do we begin?" Lars asked the two renegades, facing them both. "I don't like waiting when my life is at stake."
--
"Serchil told me to inform you, my Loremaster, that he will be standing guard by the encampment with the rest of the host." Said Indras, almost too informally in front of Hans, as he groaned at the presence of the First Mate. "I'll make sure his duty is keeping our watch up to standard, and that he is not busy courting the vessel's fair lady." The engineer chuckled. Hans felt a sense of trust in Indras; he seemed out of character from what he expected of the Asur. This fellow was far more laid back and amicable to the presence of outsiders. Indras explained much to the Student about the magical land of the Elves, educating him on the provinces of Ulthuan and their history while the Dove-ship made port. Eataine, Naggarythe, Saphery, even Cothique itself and more. The names of these lands whisped like sand across the loose net of Hans' mind, barely clutching at the tiny grains that stuck within his memory.
Indras' choice of language seemed sway with each passing sentence, speaking one moment in Eltharin, then another in the common Reikspiel, all in Celedron's presence. "Your host is getting restless." He noted toward the mustering of Marienburgers across the cliffside, waiting close by the original trio that stood. While Lars was no longer Captain, it was stark that the men of the Old World knew where their loyalties truly laid, much to Serchil's taste if he had seen -- he was too busy courting his forbidden crush to notice.
"Do we leave soon, Sir?" Hans asked, surveying the impatient host of dregs.
"I haven't heard of any of your clans names. Frankly I barely knew much about you all till recently. Rat men with large underground cities were the legends. Some spoke of strange weapons and mad science that could make even the Nuln engineers flustered." Fal laughed at how little he, like most of the Empire's soldiers knew of the Skaven. "Seems silly now. And makes me scared for what you're bastard ilk are capable of." As the two spoke the former Captain came up. Now going by Lars he and Anglermaw got talking. "I hope they know how to use the blades their given. If the rumors are true this'll be a fun hike." Fal says with a teasing smirk that reeked of smug confidence.
Wandering up from Hans and with a mighty voice Celedron spoke.
"Formations, ready!" He called. With automatic and mechanical precision the Asur got into formation in front of the Loremaster. Behind he saw the Marianburgers being nudged into position as well. "We march out into the jungles of Lustria. Lands of the fabled Lizardmen and all forms of other jungle beasts. Be on your toes and don't slow down behind. Few places in the world are easier to get lost in than these wooded areas. Into your formations and move out behind me." He stamps his staph in the ground and the Asur give an in sync stamp of their spears. It was perfectly regimented. Reminding Fal of his time with the Empires forces. Celedron began marching into the jungle and under the arched palms in their welcoming manner. "Coming?" He says as he walks past Fal, Lars and Anglermaw. Fal gave a nod and walked up beside the Loremaster. "Captain I request you and Fal go follow up the rear with your men. I trust them to listen to you more then they would me." Celedron says as the group moves out in two near lines. The lines of troops were paired up and a gap between each unit of Spearmen of two meters was all that stopped them being right on top of each other. The formations were elegant an stoic like the Elves themselves with their sparkling helmets and pristine spears. "Anglermaw will remain with me. I have need of his insight."
Wandering up from Hans and with a mighty voice Celedron spoke.
"Formations, ready!" He called. With automatic and mechanical precision the Asur got into formation in front of the Loremaster. Behind he saw the Marianburgers being nudged into position as well. "We march out into the jungles of Lustria. Lands of the fabled Lizardmen and all forms of other jungle beasts. Be on your toes and don't slow down behind. Few places in the world are easier to get lost in than these wooded areas. Into your formations and move out behind me." He stamps his staph in the ground and the Asur give an in sync stamp of their spears. It was perfectly regimented. Reminding Fal of his time with the Empires forces. Celedron began marching into the jungle and under the arched palms in their welcoming manner. "Coming?" He says as he walks past Fal, Lars and Anglermaw. Fal gave a nod and walked up beside the Loremaster. "Captain I request you and Fal go follow up the rear with your men. I trust them to listen to you more then they would me." Celedron says as the group moves out in two near lines. The lines of troops were paired up and a gap between each unit of Spearmen of two meters was all that stopped them being right on top of each other. The formations were elegant an stoic like the Elves themselves with their sparkling helmets and pristine spears. "Anglermaw will remain with me. I have need of his insight."
The jungle itself was labyrinthine; for the host of Man and Elf, there was no clear way forward that allowed them any sense of direction. Only Anglermaw's keen nose could pick up the arcane musk. To the no-furs, the only scent they could pick up was the stuffy aroma of the wet jungle, not to mention the natural perfumes of the Lustrian flora. It was merely an adequate lure for curious prey; even the flowers themselves were ruthless and savage so deep within the New World. Monkeys yelped across the wall of vines that lay present across the endless, claustrophobic walkway of green. Nightmarish insects and arachnids - bearing upon their crests a rainbow of dazzling, deathly patterns - chirped atop the vines, surveying their potential herd of unsuspecting prey.
"By Sigmar... Such exotic breeds of fauna." Hans muttered under his breath, bewitched by the array of alien beasts.
"Yeah, all of 'em ready to pounce on your sleeping, soon-to-be carcass." Lars replied, wiping the sweat from his brow. They had already spent an hour trudging through these looping woods -- they had followed the Rat on his wild goose chase, and no matter how fruitless and puzzling the trek had seemed, Celedron and his ilk placed their faith into his direction. "I used hear stories about the bugs you can find here from old sailor folk. If one o' those spiders catches your hand, you may as well just sit on some stump somewhere, 'cause it'll be the last place of rest you'll get before the poison courses across your body within the next few minutes."
Anglermaw chuckled from the front as he overheard the conversation. "Even Pestilens-Rats think Lustria is dangerous, 'cause everything is trying to kill-kill you, yeah." He interjected. "Huntin' for scaly things be fun 'n' games 'til ye fall into an acid bog."
A few Marienburgers shuddered for a moment. Hans himself could see the trepidation upon their bodies clear as day. It was a fool's errand to come here, as it was to venture within Sartosa. If he'd still be on the mainland right now if he'd made better choices, safe within the walls of Altdorf and home within Brunswick Manor.
But he'd still be a craven, still ignorant to the evils of the world, and Anglermaw's bitter ilk.
His brooding within this wet furnace was annulled, however, as the host came to a strange landmark. A wretched pond, absent of the endless wall of vines. Within the center of this putrid marsh was a wooden totem that was embossed with a wailing face of abject terror. But this carved monolith was not what sank the spirits of the Manfolk that stared, their stomachs cramped with sudden fear. It was the vast plethora of rotting, desiccated bodies that littered the pools -- their stomachs bloated with water and the vile nests of bot-spiders that laid their young within the crevices of these corpses. From the worn markings that lapped across the rotting skin of these folk, they were clearly indigenous to the jungle, different to the undead sailors encountered upon the straits of the Vampire Coast.
"By the Horned Sigmar Rat!" Anglermaw wretched, the musk of the Ark replaced by a far more pungent stench. "Too bloody rotten for my taste."
"I've seen worse sights during my youth in the wasteland, quite frankly." Lars tutted, clearly unimpressed as he waded to the front the host, noticing a wall of text inscribed upon the wailing totem. His face lit up for a moment in curiosity, stomping across the line of bodies. "Good gods, that's bloody Reikspiel! An' I thought the only Humans in this place were a bunch of primitive knuckledraggers."
"What it say, then?" Wondered Anglermaw, joining the Marienburger in his curious wade across the trench.
Lars knelt by the totem, knee deep within the sludge of macabre pond water and ignorant to the parasites that probably hung across his trousers. He surveyed the slanted lettering, carved by some rudimentary knife without any thought of precision. Then he read out the warning.
"'Abandon hope, wanderers beware
Too late it is to forsake your dare
Guarding the jungle be Lankey-faced Pete
Trespassed you have, on his collection of meat
Can't escape now, you're already in his sight
Half the man you'll be by the end of this night
Your lot in life condemned to be a hive for flesh-eating pond nits
Written by Slippy John, already eaten by the time ye've read this'"
There was silence for a few moments, complete with Anglermaw himself winding his humid beak across the scope of darkened trees that shrouded any escape. "Lankey-faced Pete, eh?" He chittered across the pond, breaking the absence of sound. "Sounds like'a old wives tale t' me. I say we move-move forward, the Ark musk is being drowned out by this 'ere cesspit."
"By Sigmar... Such exotic breeds of fauna." Hans muttered under his breath, bewitched by the array of alien beasts.
"Yeah, all of 'em ready to pounce on your sleeping, soon-to-be carcass." Lars replied, wiping the sweat from his brow. They had already spent an hour trudging through these looping woods -- they had followed the Rat on his wild goose chase, and no matter how fruitless and puzzling the trek had seemed, Celedron and his ilk placed their faith into his direction. "I used hear stories about the bugs you can find here from old sailor folk. If one o' those spiders catches your hand, you may as well just sit on some stump somewhere, 'cause it'll be the last place of rest you'll get before the poison courses across your body within the next few minutes."
Anglermaw chuckled from the front as he overheard the conversation. "Even Pestilens-Rats think Lustria is dangerous, 'cause everything is trying to kill-kill you, yeah." He interjected. "Huntin' for scaly things be fun 'n' games 'til ye fall into an acid bog."
A few Marienburgers shuddered for a moment. Hans himself could see the trepidation upon their bodies clear as day. It was a fool's errand to come here, as it was to venture within Sartosa. If he'd still be on the mainland right now if he'd made better choices, safe within the walls of Altdorf and home within Brunswick Manor.
But he'd still be a craven, still ignorant to the evils of the world, and Anglermaw's bitter ilk.
His brooding within this wet furnace was annulled, however, as the host came to a strange landmark. A wretched pond, absent of the endless wall of vines. Within the center of this putrid marsh was a wooden totem that was embossed with a wailing face of abject terror. But this carved monolith was not what sank the spirits of the Manfolk that stared, their stomachs cramped with sudden fear. It was the vast plethora of rotting, desiccated bodies that littered the pools -- their stomachs bloated with water and the vile nests of bot-spiders that laid their young within the crevices of these corpses. From the worn markings that lapped across the rotting skin of these folk, they were clearly indigenous to the jungle, different to the undead sailors encountered upon the straits of the Vampire Coast.
"By the Horned Sigmar Rat!" Anglermaw wretched, the musk of the Ark replaced by a far more pungent stench. "Too bloody rotten for my taste."
"I've seen worse sights during my youth in the wasteland, quite frankly." Lars tutted, clearly unimpressed as he waded to the front the host, noticing a wall of text inscribed upon the wailing totem. His face lit up for a moment in curiosity, stomping across the line of bodies. "Good gods, that's bloody Reikspiel! An' I thought the only Humans in this place were a bunch of primitive knuckledraggers."
"What it say, then?" Wondered Anglermaw, joining the Marienburger in his curious wade across the trench.
Lars knelt by the totem, knee deep within the sludge of macabre pond water and ignorant to the parasites that probably hung across his trousers. He surveyed the slanted lettering, carved by some rudimentary knife without any thought of precision. Then he read out the warning.
"'Abandon hope, wanderers beware
Too late it is to forsake your dare
Guarding the jungle be Lankey-faced Pete
Trespassed you have, on his collection of meat
Can't escape now, you're already in his sight
Half the man you'll be by the end of this night
Your lot in life condemned to be a hive for flesh-eating pond nits
Written by Slippy John, already eaten by the time ye've read this'"
There was silence for a few moments, complete with Anglermaw himself winding his humid beak across the scope of darkened trees that shrouded any escape. "Lankey-faced Pete, eh?" He chittered across the pond, breaking the absence of sound. "Sounds like'a old wives tale t' me. I say we move-move forward, the Ark musk is being drowned out by this 'ere cesspit."
The wildlife of Lustria was far different to that of the Old World. For instance the ferns. Ferns would usually be small things that barely reached your thigh in the lands of the Emperor. But here they were massive. Leaves larger then Anglermaw and greens the likes of which would seem blinding to any used to the duller pallet of Riekland flora. There were flowers of colours and shapes he could barely understand. Some he saw looked like pitchers of wine from Bretonnian festivals. They gave off a particularly sweet smell. Almost like a floral honey. The insects were equally as wondrous but no less annoying then those of his homeland. Mosquitoes. At least that's what he assumed they were buzzed around and landed on his skin to take a drink of hybrid Elven blood. Slapping his neck he caught one. Flicking the bloody stain from his skin he caught sight of a large web. Nothing the size of some of the fabled Araknarok nests in the Drakwald but large nonetheless. A web that stretched about three feet and in its center a spider with a large abdomen. Blood red with a black slit down the middle gave it the look of a savage eye. Something Fal hoped was just decoration and not a to scale replica of what is lurking. The large spindly legs and twitching mandibles moved ever so slightly as the group passed.
Celedron was ever intrigued by the flora and fauna of Lustria. It always posed a fascinating mix of beauty and lethality. Much like the Elven race it would prove fatal to underestimate it simply for it's pleasant looks. He noticed several flowers and animals. Reptiles, mostly small frogs and lizards that had extremely vibrant skin. A trait he knew was a warning of toxicity. He'd be a bit more cautious where he put his hands here knowing the capabilities of everything from the animals to the flowers. That not even taking into account the civilizations. The great Lizardmen temple cities and their territorial occupants. A poisonous frog would be the least of his problems if they attracted the ire of the ancient reptiles. The banter between Lars and Anglermaw was an equally intriguing manner. Something about their interaction as both unsettling and enlightening. To see man and Skaven chatting like equals. Though his intrigue and curiocity were replaced with caution as they reached the strange, oddly human pillar. Stopping the retinue with a tap of his staff he saw Lars go ahead.
Hearing the riddle or poem as it may be read out filled him with dread. The smell alone of this place was vile enough to make one lose all manner of meals but the unnerving words were of something new. A warning like the ramblings of a mad man. When it said 'already eaten' Celedron's mind slipped to the obvious. Hearing no sound in this area he turned to his men.
"Form a defensive formation. Spears at the ready and keep an eye on the treeline. Marianburgers. Get within the formation and be ready." He commands and with regimented nods the Elves move around their commander Sitting shoulder to shoulder they formed a defencive circle of tightly packed twenty four bodies. Enough room in the center for the Marianburgers, Fal and Celedron to stand. Anglermaw was further out with Lars who Celedron looked over to.
"I suggest moving back here quickly. Seems we are likely in the midst of an ambush. Moving out would be a mistake it so." He says hoping Lars decides to pull back to relevant safety. The Elves scanned the treeline looking for any sign of this 'Lankey Faced Pete'.
Celedron was ever intrigued by the flora and fauna of Lustria. It always posed a fascinating mix of beauty and lethality. Much like the Elven race it would prove fatal to underestimate it simply for it's pleasant looks. He noticed several flowers and animals. Reptiles, mostly small frogs and lizards that had extremely vibrant skin. A trait he knew was a warning of toxicity. He'd be a bit more cautious where he put his hands here knowing the capabilities of everything from the animals to the flowers. That not even taking into account the civilizations. The great Lizardmen temple cities and their territorial occupants. A poisonous frog would be the least of his problems if they attracted the ire of the ancient reptiles. The banter between Lars and Anglermaw was an equally intriguing manner. Something about their interaction as both unsettling and enlightening. To see man and Skaven chatting like equals. Though his intrigue and curiocity were replaced with caution as they reached the strange, oddly human pillar. Stopping the retinue with a tap of his staff he saw Lars go ahead.
Hearing the riddle or poem as it may be read out filled him with dread. The smell alone of this place was vile enough to make one lose all manner of meals but the unnerving words were of something new. A warning like the ramblings of a mad man. When it said 'already eaten' Celedron's mind slipped to the obvious. Hearing no sound in this area he turned to his men.
"Form a defensive formation. Spears at the ready and keep an eye on the treeline. Marianburgers. Get within the formation and be ready." He commands and with regimented nods the Elves move around their commander Sitting shoulder to shoulder they formed a defencive circle of tightly packed twenty four bodies. Enough room in the center for the Marianburgers, Fal and Celedron to stand. Anglermaw was further out with Lars who Celedron looked over to.
"I suggest moving back here quickly. Seems we are likely in the midst of an ambush. Moving out would be a mistake it so." He says hoping Lars decides to pull back to relevant safety. The Elves scanned the treeline looking for any sign of this 'Lankey Faced Pete'.
"Vanderbarzen, you've gone mad!" Shouted a Marienburger as he fell in line with his peers toward the centre, within the statuary spear wall. "Get back here before you end up wormfood!" The atmosphere of the jungle was tumultuous from the start, with hidden killers - great and small - laying in wait upon every shade of a vine. Now the blood of Man and Elf ran chilled, their bodies tensed with unease thanks to the uncovering of this boggy pit of flesh. Regardless, the spear-bearing Elf folk did not disclose any semblance of dread, their tall figures still stout as they awaited some ghoulish abomination.
But as Lars and Anglermaw waded through the lime trench back to Celedron's host, there was no sign of 'Lankey-faced Pete.' Only the chirping of these parasites, which engorged themselves upon the putrified folk, dominated the grounds. Moments passed thereafter, the Cothiquan's remained stalwart -- the Marienburgers, confused and afraid. Perfect cover for a rogue adder to slip through, camouflaged in the shade of mossy flora. One of the sailors that stood within the encirclement yelped in pain as a sudden, phantom jolt of agony coursed across his thigh.
"Something just shot me!" The fellow complained, thrashing his body across the foliage in some futile attempt to dull the pain, ignorant of the furious, slithering vine that waded back into the leafy maze. A swarm of vibrant feathered creatures flew opposite from the screams; the entire jungle had become alerted. Lars' folk drew their blades in an adrenaline-spurred panic, as did Hans, who remained by Celedron and Falderan.
"It burns! IT BURNS!" The Sailor continued to howl before his kin grasped his gaping maw. Even then, his screams of agony were simply muffled, hardly drowned out as he continued to sickeningly contort his body. While the creature responsible had since slinked away, it's handiwork was undoubtedly clear; two bloody pinpricks were marked upon the poor fellow, held down by his folk.
Hans' heart sank as he thought back to Lars' words of warning. "B-by S-Sigmar... This isn't possible is it? Nobody can die from a bite that small!"
"Shit, that's Joel!" Lars noted, rushing toward the scene with a crazed fear for his companion. "Joel! Orcbane! Is that you?! C'mon, you're not going out like this, not from some bloody jungle pest!"
It was thanks to this chaos among the sailors, that all but the keenest eyes were ignorant to the subtle ruffles of a shapeless entity behind the army of ferns. Anglermaw remained apathetic toward the scene, but his beak pointed to a new, sour musk that presented itself to the Sea-Rat. He held no doubt then, that the sensitive ears of the Elf-things would've caught note of the faint movements beyond.
Then - a few grueling seconds after - there was nothing...
But as Lars and Anglermaw waded through the lime trench back to Celedron's host, there was no sign of 'Lankey-faced Pete.' Only the chirping of these parasites, which engorged themselves upon the putrified folk, dominated the grounds. Moments passed thereafter, the Cothiquan's remained stalwart -- the Marienburgers, confused and afraid. Perfect cover for a rogue adder to slip through, camouflaged in the shade of mossy flora. One of the sailors that stood within the encirclement yelped in pain as a sudden, phantom jolt of agony coursed across his thigh.
"Something just shot me!" The fellow complained, thrashing his body across the foliage in some futile attempt to dull the pain, ignorant of the furious, slithering vine that waded back into the leafy maze. A swarm of vibrant feathered creatures flew opposite from the screams; the entire jungle had become alerted. Lars' folk drew their blades in an adrenaline-spurred panic, as did Hans, who remained by Celedron and Falderan.
"It burns! IT BURNS!" The Sailor continued to howl before his kin grasped his gaping maw. Even then, his screams of agony were simply muffled, hardly drowned out as he continued to sickeningly contort his body. While the creature responsible had since slinked away, it's handiwork was undoubtedly clear; two bloody pinpricks were marked upon the poor fellow, held down by his folk.
Hans' heart sank as he thought back to Lars' words of warning. "B-by S-Sigmar... This isn't possible is it? Nobody can die from a bite that small!"
"Shit, that's Joel!" Lars noted, rushing toward the scene with a crazed fear for his companion. "Joel! Orcbane! Is that you?! C'mon, you're not going out like this, not from some bloody jungle pest!"
It was thanks to this chaos among the sailors, that all but the keenest eyes were ignorant to the subtle ruffles of a shapeless entity behind the army of ferns. Anglermaw remained apathetic toward the scene, but his beak pointed to a new, sour musk that presented itself to the Sea-Rat. He held no doubt then, that the sensitive ears of the Elf-things would've caught note of the faint movements beyond.
Then - a few grueling seconds after - there was nothing...
The strike was quick and without warning. Somehow sneaking up through and past the secure spear formation. This showing of vulnerability got to the Elves.
"What got through?" One asks as their eyes scan the jungle floor. The poor man screamed in pain as Celedron moved down to his wound to examine it. The thrashing and flailing made it hard to see the tiny wounds but they were there. Pin prick sized holes next to each other. Tell tale signs of a bite. But what bite exactly? What bit him and how did it somehow get through without detection. Channeling the winds of magic arcane power rustled in the air. Celedron chanted something in his angelic tongue and touching the wound he tried to cast a healing spell in an attempt to extract the venom or at least halt it's spreading. Fal watched on intrigued. He had never seen magic used much before like this. In a moment of wonder he realized he shouldn't be so enthralled. Snapping from it he looks out to the jungle. Eager to find what caused the attack. And more importantly what this 'Lankey-faced Pete' was.
"What got through?" One asks as their eyes scan the jungle floor. The poor man screamed in pain as Celedron moved down to his wound to examine it. The thrashing and flailing made it hard to see the tiny wounds but they were there. Pin prick sized holes next to each other. Tell tale signs of a bite. But what bite exactly? What bit him and how did it somehow get through without detection. Channeling the winds of magic arcane power rustled in the air. Celedron chanted something in his angelic tongue and touching the wound he tried to cast a healing spell in an attempt to extract the venom or at least halt it's spreading. Fal watched on intrigued. He had never seen magic used much before like this. In a moment of wonder he realized he shouldn't be so enthralled. Snapping from it he looks out to the jungle. Eager to find what caused the attack. And more importantly what this 'Lankey-faced Pete' was.
The wounded sailor had begun to sway from his madness as the Loremaster lathered the pinpricks within an aura of shining qhaysh. Hidden under the white strobes that emanated, it was almost as though the wound itself was simply an imaginary figment. It had vanished along side the dimming spectrum, the corrosive venom alongside it. With a few deep breaths of thankful relief, Joel grasped a nearby fern, lifting himself up from the grass. Still, all was not so reassuring; they were still in Pete's lair after all. He would come calling.
"B-by Verena, that was amazing." One of spectating sailors commented, awestruck by what he had seen. "You saved his life."
Joel remained silent,still under an adrenaline induced haze. However, he managed to muster his thanks with a quick nod toward the Loremaster. And an offering of vomit, turning away the heads of his peers in disgust.
"This place is gonna drive us all crazy." Another commented. "Won't be long before we end up bugfood like the rest of these bodies."
"Bloody Hell." Lars commented, surveying the shaken demanour his kinsman. He then turned his head back toward the Loremaster, hiding a sharp grimace beneath his scarred front. He thought well of his folk, and he agreed with them; Lustria was bound to be a waking nightmare. But it was a nightmare that had play out, there was nothing else left to lose now, nought but this fantasy Ark. "Anglermaw is going to cost me my men. I have conceded my Captaincy for your folk, but the lives of mine are worth more than any station. We are not Human shields-!"
"What in the Horned Rat is that thing!" Yelled Anglermaw, noticing the harrowing silhouette of a dangling, salivating wraith. Looming over the host like some bird of prey, born out the most lurid, abstract visions. A dangling jaw, jutting from it's blackened gums a row of razor-sharp fangs. Grey, lifeless viscera dangled from the beast's chest cavity -- an uncoiled rope of bowels sliding across the ground like some kurgan lassoo. It had no lower body as to speak of, but this was no concern to 'Lankey-faced Pete,' using his long and thin arms to haul himself across the canopy.
There he gurgled for all to see, greeted by the host with gaping, silent mouthes of disbelief.
Then Pete howled, saliva sputtering across the many figures before leaping across the air like a wingless bat and into the encirclement. Joel once again screamed in agony as he and two other folk were torn pieces upon Pete's landing, swallowed into his abyssal maw. Pandemonium ensued; the Marienburgers screamed alongside as they ran in the chaos, Lars and Hans were both tossed aside by the Mourngul's rotting claw before they could react. They would tumble unconscious toward the pond of corpses, laying across the mire of insects and ambivalent to the terror. The Marienburgers that joined them were not so lucky; they were cast aside in pieces instead.
"This grave-thing ere be Lankey Pete, is it?!" Anglermaw wondered loudly, aiming his brandished warplock toward the Mourngul's head. "Needs a taste of warp lightning, that'll calm him down!"
Try as the Sea-Rat might however, Pete's movements were chillingly unpredictable as he swiped at the mud, his glowing eyes white hot with hunger. Once more like some wicked contortionist, he raised his claw upward ready to strike at his prey.
The prey this time would be Celedron.
"B-by Verena, that was amazing." One of spectating sailors commented, awestruck by what he had seen. "You saved his life."
Joel remained silent,still under an adrenaline induced haze. However, he managed to muster his thanks with a quick nod toward the Loremaster. And an offering of vomit, turning away the heads of his peers in disgust.
"This place is gonna drive us all crazy." Another commented. "Won't be long before we end up bugfood like the rest of these bodies."
"Bloody Hell." Lars commented, surveying the shaken demanour his kinsman. He then turned his head back toward the Loremaster, hiding a sharp grimace beneath his scarred front. He thought well of his folk, and he agreed with them; Lustria was bound to be a waking nightmare. But it was a nightmare that had play out, there was nothing else left to lose now, nought but this fantasy Ark. "Anglermaw is going to cost me my men. I have conceded my Captaincy for your folk, but the lives of mine are worth more than any station. We are not Human shields-!"
"What in the Horned Rat is that thing!" Yelled Anglermaw, noticing the harrowing silhouette of a dangling, salivating wraith. Looming over the host like some bird of prey, born out the most lurid, abstract visions. A dangling jaw, jutting from it's blackened gums a row of razor-sharp fangs. Grey, lifeless viscera dangled from the beast's chest cavity -- an uncoiled rope of bowels sliding across the ground like some kurgan lassoo. It had no lower body as to speak of, but this was no concern to 'Lankey-faced Pete,' using his long and thin arms to haul himself across the canopy.
There he gurgled for all to see, greeted by the host with gaping, silent mouthes of disbelief.
Then Pete howled, saliva sputtering across the many figures before leaping across the air like a wingless bat and into the encirclement. Joel once again screamed in agony as he and two other folk were torn pieces upon Pete's landing, swallowed into his abyssal maw. Pandemonium ensued; the Marienburgers screamed alongside as they ran in the chaos, Lars and Hans were both tossed aside by the Mourngul's rotting claw before they could react. They would tumble unconscious toward the pond of corpses, laying across the mire of insects and ambivalent to the terror. The Marienburgers that joined them were not so lucky; they were cast aside in pieces instead.
"This grave-thing ere be Lankey Pete, is it?!" Anglermaw wondered loudly, aiming his brandished warplock toward the Mourngul's head. "Needs a taste of warp lightning, that'll calm him down!"
Try as the Sea-Rat might however, Pete's movements were chillingly unpredictable as he swiped at the mud, his glowing eyes white hot with hunger. Once more like some wicked contortionist, he raised his claw upward ready to strike at his prey.
The prey this time would be Celedron.
As the Mariaburgers all responded to Celedrons healing magic the Elven Loremaster went stiff and silent as his eyes scanned the trees. He didn't hear Lars speak as he felt something off in the winds of magic. A disturbance as if they were being siphoned and the wind made chill by some unseen force. The Elven spearmen tensed as they too sensed the chill. The humid air made is stand out some more. Fals own hairs stood on end. He looked to his arm and felt goosebumps which was odd given the humidity. Anglermaw's cries of disbelief were what triggered the group to turn. From out of the trees leapt a massive beast unlike anything they had seen. A large humanoid creature three times the size of a man and with it's lower body missing and intestines hanging like trailing ropes. Letting out a horrific wail as it crashed amongst the spearmen. Narrowly leaping away as several Marianburgers were slaughtered.
"This being is Necrotic! It wreaks of the Winds of Shyish!" Celedron cries as he pushes one man back narrowly avoiding Pete's massive swipe. It's broken and hanging jaw let out a horrible cry as it's body radiated a fearful chill. The grass frosted over and died were it went and the humidity was replaced with a chilling breeze. The magic that seemed to radiate from this creature worries Celedron. Something about it messed with his connection to the winds of magic. Drawing his blade he prepared to fight. The spearmen around got into a defensive stance and push forward hoping to pin it down. With a swing of it's arm a spear was snapped and the Elf nearby barely avoided being crushed by the elongated fingers and unnatural proportions. Letting out it's cry it made a leap to Celedron.
It's claw raised, Celedron twisted his body and counter swung with his blade. Runes etched in it flared to life and the beasts hand was deflected. Roaring as thick strips of saliva hit the Elf, Celedron chanted a spell and with his free left hand shot out a fireball. The ball seemed to dwindle in size before it hit Pete but it hit nonetheless. The flames exploded and sent the beast into a panicked shriek. Slapping back an Elf who hit a tree with a bone shattering crack it leaped out into the jungle as the situation went quiet and large figure was lost in the trees. The chill still present on the air. The group panted. Fal had drawn his necrotic blade but was yet to use it as the Loremaster looked over the damage. Several dead and numerous more wounded. He looked to his hand and his knuckles bled from his counter strike. He panted. That simple fireball took more from him then he thought.
"Be ready." He says as the chill picks up and unease returns. From the jungles a silhouette emerges followed by a wail accompanied by a massive swiping hand that struck an Elf. Narrowly managing to impale the hand the creature didn't seem to as with snapped jaws it throws it's mouth over the Elf and flails. The Elves bones shatter as he's flung around before being swallowed whole. Expecting a corpse to fall out the bottom nothing does as Pete lets out a cry and flings the spear from his hand.
"This being is Necrotic! It wreaks of the Winds of Shyish!" Celedron cries as he pushes one man back narrowly avoiding Pete's massive swipe. It's broken and hanging jaw let out a horrible cry as it's body radiated a fearful chill. The grass frosted over and died were it went and the humidity was replaced with a chilling breeze. The magic that seemed to radiate from this creature worries Celedron. Something about it messed with his connection to the winds of magic. Drawing his blade he prepared to fight. The spearmen around got into a defensive stance and push forward hoping to pin it down. With a swing of it's arm a spear was snapped and the Elf nearby barely avoided being crushed by the elongated fingers and unnatural proportions. Letting out it's cry it made a leap to Celedron.
It's claw raised, Celedron twisted his body and counter swung with his blade. Runes etched in it flared to life and the beasts hand was deflected. Roaring as thick strips of saliva hit the Elf, Celedron chanted a spell and with his free left hand shot out a fireball. The ball seemed to dwindle in size before it hit Pete but it hit nonetheless. The flames exploded and sent the beast into a panicked shriek. Slapping back an Elf who hit a tree with a bone shattering crack it leaped out into the jungle as the situation went quiet and large figure was lost in the trees. The chill still present on the air. The group panted. Fal had drawn his necrotic blade but was yet to use it as the Loremaster looked over the damage. Several dead and numerous more wounded. He looked to his hand and his knuckles bled from his counter strike. He panted. That simple fireball took more from him then he thought.
"Be ready." He says as the chill picks up and unease returns. From the jungles a silhouette emerges followed by a wail accompanied by a massive swiping hand that struck an Elf. Narrowly managing to impale the hand the creature didn't seem to as with snapped jaws it throws it's mouth over the Elf and flails. The Elves bones shatter as he's flung around before being swallowed whole. Expecting a corpse to fall out the bottom nothing does as Pete lets out a cry and flings the spear from his hand.
'KA-zoo!' Went the warplock, a wreathing bolt of jade fire spewing from the weapon. The ray tore through the foliage that served as Pete's cover and the scathing embers lapped at the Mourngul's dangling body as he prepared for his next lunge. He gurgled violently, like a condemned theif upon the hangman's noose, slobbering from his open jaws with an agitated growl.
"Ha, got 'im-yeah!" Chittered a jubliant Anglermaw, impressed by the dazzling sight of the warplock's handiwork as the unholy flames refused to snuff, even as they danced upon the pond of carcasses. The fire spread across the water, sticking to the putrid corpses like magical napalm -- the unfortunate tribesfolk were soon roasted, as were the screeching parasites that dwelt within their open cadavers.
It was then that Hans awoke, sifting within the pool of dead beside an unconscious Vanderbarzen. The Student stared wide eyed toward the jade inferno, half believing that he had sank into the depths of Hell, tortured by the deathly screams of Men and Elves. But it was Pete's next howl that brought Hans back to lucidity. It was a wet screech of anger, the Mourngul's bottomless sockets staring toward the Sea-Rat.
But his attention was suddenly turned to an ethereal wail. A vampiric aura that resonated within the blade of a certain Elf. Pete swayed himself, backing away toward the flames in a defensive posture. With an eerie rasp of his dangling maw, he pointed with his free arm toward the cursed blade.
"Soon" He croaked, almost unintelligibly as his mouth refused to close. And as quick as he had come, Pete raced into the safety of the jungle; he had fled. A few minutes had passed until the Marienburgers regained their composure, but even as they realised Pete had gone, there were no cheers of victory. Only a chill wind of dread passed through the waning sanity of these sailors: Pete had not been defeated, he would come back at any time once his cover was no longer comprimised.
"Oh my Gods!" A Sailor moaned in despair, panting in a post adrenaline panic as he broke the silence. "What the Hell was that? We have to get out of here! It'll kill us all if it comes back!"
"Can't leave now-now." Grumbled the Sea-Rat, slamming his volatile fire arm back within it's holster. "Don't matter if we go back, he'll follow us t' the ship. Best keep movin,' we'll make progress then."
Hans rose from the lake, still delirious as he dragged a sleeping Lars by his trouser legs, away from the dancing flames. His stomach wretched in pain, ignorant to the churning stench that surrounded them both like some Nurglite aura. The host had barely even tread upon the Lustrian earth, yet already they were as sacrificial lambs ready for bloodthirsty denizens of the jungle to gorge themselves upon. Finding the Ark would be a nightmare, so long as this 'Pete' remained a hazard.
"Ha, got 'im-yeah!" Chittered a jubliant Anglermaw, impressed by the dazzling sight of the warplock's handiwork as the unholy flames refused to snuff, even as they danced upon the pond of carcasses. The fire spread across the water, sticking to the putrid corpses like magical napalm -- the unfortunate tribesfolk were soon roasted, as were the screeching parasites that dwelt within their open cadavers.
It was then that Hans awoke, sifting within the pool of dead beside an unconscious Vanderbarzen. The Student stared wide eyed toward the jade inferno, half believing that he had sank into the depths of Hell, tortured by the deathly screams of Men and Elves. But it was Pete's next howl that brought Hans back to lucidity. It was a wet screech of anger, the Mourngul's bottomless sockets staring toward the Sea-Rat.
But his attention was suddenly turned to an ethereal wail. A vampiric aura that resonated within the blade of a certain Elf. Pete swayed himself, backing away toward the flames in a defensive posture. With an eerie rasp of his dangling maw, he pointed with his free arm toward the cursed blade.
"Soon" He croaked, almost unintelligibly as his mouth refused to close. And as quick as he had come, Pete raced into the safety of the jungle; he had fled. A few minutes had passed until the Marienburgers regained their composure, but even as they realised Pete had gone, there were no cheers of victory. Only a chill wind of dread passed through the waning sanity of these sailors: Pete had not been defeated, he would come back at any time once his cover was no longer comprimised.
"Oh my Gods!" A Sailor moaned in despair, panting in a post adrenaline panic as he broke the silence. "What the Hell was that? We have to get out of here! It'll kill us all if it comes back!"
"Can't leave now-now." Grumbled the Sea-Rat, slamming his volatile fire arm back within it's holster. "Don't matter if we go back, he'll follow us t' the ship. Best keep movin,' we'll make progress then."
Hans rose from the lake, still delirious as he dragged a sleeping Lars by his trouser legs, away from the dancing flames. His stomach wretched in pain, ignorant to the churning stench that surrounded them both like some Nurglite aura. The host had barely even tread upon the Lustrian earth, yet already they were as sacrificial lambs ready for bloodthirsty denizens of the jungle to gorge themselves upon. Finding the Ark would be a nightmare, so long as this 'Pete' remained a hazard.
In the aftermath of the battle Celedron did what he needed to maintain order. Getting what Elves were still alive to their feet and having them gather for a head count. In the resulting scuffle only two Elves were killed. One from a spine snap and the other from being eaten alive. The remaining twenty two were still breathing. Though several had broken bones. Three had dislocated arms and two had their wrists snapped. In a somewhat weakened state Celedron couldn't afford magic to heal them. He would be too weakened if he didn't take time to recover. Those with dislocated arms were treated with a few simple adjustments. They winced in pain but where fine. The two with broken wrists were given two Elves to escort them back and report while seeking medical treatment. The helmets of the deceased were gathered to be taken back as well. In total six Elves were lost from the retinue. Two dead, two injured and two to take back the dead's helmets and escort the others. Bringing the Elven spearman's number to eighteen. The Elves were oddly calm during this. Several showing disgust in needing to leave the bodies of their comrades in this putrid swamp but Celedron insured them it was too dangerous to take them back and turning back now would make their sacrifice in vain. The Elves regained composure and with a word said in Elvish for the fallen the four went back to camp as ranks were reformed.
Further in the jungle the wailing cries and faintly green smoke rose up above the trees attracting the attention of some of the local inhabitants. Standing atop a moss covered statue long since retaken by the jungle was a blue reptilian creature at about five feet tall. Standing with a similar hunched manner to the Skaven it had light blue skin and on it's back and shoulders were dark purple scales in a botched pattern. A crest was on it's head that had a sickly purple colour. It had a long tail that stuck stiff and swayed behind it adorned with two golden bangles on the thicker parts. Wearing a golden helmet adorned with three long feathers of blue body with a yellow tip. On it's wrists and arms were golden bangles and a simple belt was around it's waist adorning a blowpipe and a pouch containing darts. He had a small but ornate looking bronze dagger in hand. Big golden eyes spied the smoke with caution as it turned to a group of several others of it's kind. They were Skinks. The smallest of the Lizardmen but potentially the smartest. The others looked much the same as the first but each one only had a single feather on their helmets and slightly different assortments of jewelry.
"Na situn." The leader Skink says. Looking into the foliage he points to what seems like a blank spot and speaks. "Setu niva ski." Silently similar sized forms head into the jungle towards the smoke. Unseen and quick. The chief turns to the others. "Steef nera oftah." It says and the group of ten other Skinks begin making their way into the trees. They seemed to be about a kilometer away from the smoke.
As Celedron organised his men Fal saw to Hans and Lars. Sheathing his sword and curious as to why Pete seemed to point it out. Maybe he imagined it in the flurry of combat.
"He seems like he'll be fine." Fal says giving him a quick look over and checking his pulse. Moving his hand over his chest he applies pressure just below the ribs as he opens his mouth to turn his head to the side. Fal's idea was to try and get him to cough up any water he may have swallowed. As he did this he looked about to see the other Marianburgers. They were not taking the situation well. Before he could speak Celedron came over as four Elves started heading back.
"Now you see the types of horrors this jungle can produce. I must admit though that was something even I hadn't seen before. Clearly there are dangers here that are not as natural as the predators that lurk in the bushes. But other unnatural entities of magic." Celedron's tone was to the point and directed to the Humans. "If you wish to follow my men back then go. If you wish to take something from the dead to represent them then do it. I'd suggest leaving the bodies as being slowed down on your way back will prove fatal. Dead weight is a death sentence in Lustria." He says somewhat threatening them. "Or if you wish to see this mission through follow. We can mourn the dead later. Right now we have more seething issues to deal with." He then turns to the Elven retinue and gives a sideways glance to both Fal and Anglermaw.
Further in the jungle the wailing cries and faintly green smoke rose up above the trees attracting the attention of some of the local inhabitants. Standing atop a moss covered statue long since retaken by the jungle was a blue reptilian creature at about five feet tall. Standing with a similar hunched manner to the Skaven it had light blue skin and on it's back and shoulders were dark purple scales in a botched pattern. A crest was on it's head that had a sickly purple colour. It had a long tail that stuck stiff and swayed behind it adorned with two golden bangles on the thicker parts. Wearing a golden helmet adorned with three long feathers of blue body with a yellow tip. On it's wrists and arms were golden bangles and a simple belt was around it's waist adorning a blowpipe and a pouch containing darts. He had a small but ornate looking bronze dagger in hand. Big golden eyes spied the smoke with caution as it turned to a group of several others of it's kind. They were Skinks. The smallest of the Lizardmen but potentially the smartest. The others looked much the same as the first but each one only had a single feather on their helmets and slightly different assortments of jewelry.
"Na situn." The leader Skink says. Looking into the foliage he points to what seems like a blank spot and speaks. "Setu niva ski." Silently similar sized forms head into the jungle towards the smoke. Unseen and quick. The chief turns to the others. "Steef nera oftah." It says and the group of ten other Skinks begin making their way into the trees. They seemed to be about a kilometer away from the smoke.
As Celedron organised his men Fal saw to Hans and Lars. Sheathing his sword and curious as to why Pete seemed to point it out. Maybe he imagined it in the flurry of combat.
"He seems like he'll be fine." Fal says giving him a quick look over and checking his pulse. Moving his hand over his chest he applies pressure just below the ribs as he opens his mouth to turn his head to the side. Fal's idea was to try and get him to cough up any water he may have swallowed. As he did this he looked about to see the other Marianburgers. They were not taking the situation well. Before he could speak Celedron came over as four Elves started heading back.
"Now you see the types of horrors this jungle can produce. I must admit though that was something even I hadn't seen before. Clearly there are dangers here that are not as natural as the predators that lurk in the bushes. But other unnatural entities of magic." Celedron's tone was to the point and directed to the Humans. "If you wish to follow my men back then go. If you wish to take something from the dead to represent them then do it. I'd suggest leaving the bodies as being slowed down on your way back will prove fatal. Dead weight is a death sentence in Lustria." He says somewhat threatening them. "Or if you wish to see this mission through follow. We can mourn the dead later. Right now we have more seething issues to deal with." He then turns to the Elven retinue and gives a sideways glance to both Fal and Anglermaw.
"If w-we head back to port now, we'll make it to the beach before nightfall, w-won't we?" One Marienburger stuttered, searching the remains of a mutilated fellow. He was looting the bodies, those kinsmen who fell to Pete's bottomless maw. The vagrants of the Wasteland felt no true camaraderie with one another, only their survival was truly paramount, for the host of the Siren had already lost too much. They had been reduced to a quarter of their forces before the voyage to Lustria; now six men of the fifteen were felled in one mere skirmish -- two of them utterly wiped from existence. Only the toothed necklace of Joel Orc-bane - a rowed lace of Greenskin fangs - served as his remains; his body had been wholly devoured by the Mourngul, as had the poor sod who'd come to his aid from the adder bite. The other four were colourfully eviscerated beyond recognition -- their bodies ripped and twisted like macabre ragdolls, tossed across the ponds as fodder for the swamp flies.
None of the Sailors remained, joining the Cothiquan spearman on their journey back to the Dove-ship. Vanderbarzen's most loyal guard had already perished over a mere weekend. Pete's raid reducing their pitiable morale to rock bottom.
Minutes had passed since the injured and the cowardly had left, and Lars choked as he rose to his feet, brought back to his senses by the newfound bite of premonition. "Bloody 'ell! It's gonna get even worse from here on in, isn't it?" He sputtered, wiping away at the various worms and leeches that hooked onto the fabric of his coat. A pungent smell of death radiated from the soiled linen, the stench of death so gut-wretching that only a Nurglite priest could endure the aroma. Lars himself was painfully aware also, even within his first few moments awake. "I'll stick to the end, then. I couldn't avenge my men on the Siren, I can't afford to let the Siren's name die in vain like this. Joel and the others deserve vengeance."
"V-Vand- I mean Lars!" Hans interjected as he kept the former Captain balanced, Lars himself choking indiscriminately as he sauntered forward. "By Sigmar's sake! Y-you can barely stand, it's not worth it Lars, it's just not worth it!"
"It's worth enough to watch that bastard wraith take it's last bloody breath!" Lars roared in reply, bumbling as he pushed away Hans' desperate grasp. "I've already lost too much, why doesn't that 'Pete' just come and rend us all to pieces? It'd save us the suffering!"
Anglermaw watched the row from the distance, crossing his furred arms with fangs bared with ponder. They had barely ventured a few hours into the maze of Lustria and already this host had been reduced to a band of squabbling, despairing rogues. He felt a slight sense of pity for Lars, even after the fortnight of mistreatment -- the lost of his captaincy mirrored that of his own, abandoned by his own crew. Anglermaw had been left by the Skurvy-rats to die at the hands of the sea, Vanderbarzen had been left to die at the jaws of the jungle.
"Can't afford to argue." The Sea-Rat interrupted, creaking his beak back toward Celedron, who was already preparing to move foward. "We just need to follow the musk, Pete could attack at any moment. At our weakest most like-probably, yeah."
None of the Sailors remained, joining the Cothiquan spearman on their journey back to the Dove-ship. Vanderbarzen's most loyal guard had already perished over a mere weekend. Pete's raid reducing their pitiable morale to rock bottom.
Minutes had passed since the injured and the cowardly had left, and Lars choked as he rose to his feet, brought back to his senses by the newfound bite of premonition. "Bloody 'ell! It's gonna get even worse from here on in, isn't it?" He sputtered, wiping away at the various worms and leeches that hooked onto the fabric of his coat. A pungent smell of death radiated from the soiled linen, the stench of death so gut-wretching that only a Nurglite priest could endure the aroma. Lars himself was painfully aware also, even within his first few moments awake. "I'll stick to the end, then. I couldn't avenge my men on the Siren, I can't afford to let the Siren's name die in vain like this. Joel and the others deserve vengeance."
"V-Vand- I mean Lars!" Hans interjected as he kept the former Captain balanced, Lars himself choking indiscriminately as he sauntered forward. "By Sigmar's sake! Y-you can barely stand, it's not worth it Lars, it's just not worth it!"
"It's worth enough to watch that bastard wraith take it's last bloody breath!" Lars roared in reply, bumbling as he pushed away Hans' desperate grasp. "I've already lost too much, why doesn't that 'Pete' just come and rend us all to pieces? It'd save us the suffering!"
Anglermaw watched the row from the distance, crossing his furred arms with fangs bared with ponder. They had barely ventured a few hours into the maze of Lustria and already this host had been reduced to a band of squabbling, despairing rogues. He felt a slight sense of pity for Lars, even after the fortnight of mistreatment -- the lost of his captaincy mirrored that of his own, abandoned by his own crew. Anglermaw had been left by the Skurvy-rats to die at the hands of the sea, Vanderbarzen had been left to die at the jaws of the jungle.
"Can't afford to argue." The Sea-Rat interrupted, creaking his beak back toward Celedron, who was already preparing to move foward. "We just need to follow the musk, Pete could attack at any moment. At our weakest most like-probably, yeah."
The falling out of the Marianburgers left the hosts number lower than what Celedron had originally feared. Even though the mercenaries were less than ideal they were still useful swords. Their notion to flee and head back to camp was not something Celedron cold blame them for however. For they were in fact in an unknown land of horrors. He knew that even his fellow Asur feared this dense jungles and wished to leave. However, through loyalty, a sense of duty or even arrogance they remained. Tensions were high but turning back now would make it all for naught. Plus if the supposed ark had come by and the occupants entered the Jungle then surely their casualties would be great. From what he knew of the Skaven they'd die in the dozens before a single Elf would fall. If they came through here they'd likely be murdered in great numbers. Meaning they were on equal ground for now. Or so he hoped. Indeed the more dire thought was this Pete was some how aligned with the Chaotic force in control of the ratmen. Something that sickened and unnerved the Loremaster to his core.
Fal watched the collapse of men as they began leaving. Feeling like he should speak he was lucky enough to quickly silence himself. Realizing last minute that it was pointless. The men had made up their minds and would retreat back to the shoreline camp. How the Asur would treat their retreat is beyond Fal's knowing. However he doubt it would be with respect especially with the men's Captain and the Elves own brethren left there with a Skaven and 'filthy Druchii' as they tended to refer to him. Getting Lars's own urge for revenge brought Fal to rest a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't get over zealous. It retreated. Maybe that means we wounded it more than it seemed. Or maybe it went off to hunt easier prey. Either way we're alive and have a chance to move on. Don't squander your own need for revenge on that beast. We both know why we're here and what we shall do." Fal got in line by Celedron after giving Lars a brief talking to. Hoping his words would hinder the frazzled mans hatred and fury. He didn't say anything to Hans just giving him a nod as he passed. Celedron stood at the front of his remaining host and after a few minutes to recover the group began marching out. Desperately wanting to leave the swamp behind.
"Direct us, Captain." He says to Anglermaw. Using his title in a way which brought a scowl from some of the other Elves around.
Fal watched the collapse of men as they began leaving. Feeling like he should speak he was lucky enough to quickly silence himself. Realizing last minute that it was pointless. The men had made up their minds and would retreat back to the shoreline camp. How the Asur would treat their retreat is beyond Fal's knowing. However he doubt it would be with respect especially with the men's Captain and the Elves own brethren left there with a Skaven and 'filthy Druchii' as they tended to refer to him. Getting Lars's own urge for revenge brought Fal to rest a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't get over zealous. It retreated. Maybe that means we wounded it more than it seemed. Or maybe it went off to hunt easier prey. Either way we're alive and have a chance to move on. Don't squander your own need for revenge on that beast. We both know why we're here and what we shall do." Fal got in line by Celedron after giving Lars a brief talking to. Hoping his words would hinder the frazzled mans hatred and fury. He didn't say anything to Hans just giving him a nod as he passed. Celedron stood at the front of his remaining host and after a few minutes to recover the group began marching out. Desperately wanting to leave the swamp behind.
"Direct us, Captain." He says to Anglermaw. Using his title in a way which brought a scowl from some of the other Elves around.
Lars flinched as he felt a grasp upon his shoulder -- the Mourngul's recent attack leaving his already delirious nerves hay-wired and jumpier than a skittish Southland gazelle. Still, he caught Falderan's voice and listened to his council, concealing a wretched scowl under his blemished face. Vanderbarzen despised the Elf, almost as greatly as Anglermaw himself. The Skaven had lead them to the end of the world at the cost of the Siren and Lars' own dignity; it was Falderan that entrusted Anglermaw to do so. They had both denied him the macabre honour of leaving this earth with his shattered maiden, the constant thinning of his kinsmen torturing his will to continue. None of this would have occurred had they docked by Port Heldenhammer, he thought.
Lars' reply was one of complete silence, swaying himself around to the Elf before granting him a nod of approval. Then he wiped the grime from his linen shirt, flinging the slime toward the grass like globules of sticky tar. Hans would simply look on, staring mute with a clear wish not to interject himself, awkwardly joining the Marienburger in wiping away the filth from his clothes.
"Captain?! Ha, never thought I'd be called that again." Anglermaw chuckled. "Better get movin' before the fresh dead drown that musk out-yeah." He continued, skittering to the front of the host. And so with half of their numbers gone, and ignorant of the tension that surrounded the folk like the odious stench that wafted around the screaming totem, they marched forth.
Anglermaw's trail was oddly convenient as the Cothiquans marched behind him, almost like a set path, strangely out of place within the wild jungles of Lustria. Of course, the serpentine trail was blackened under the canopy of the afternoon jungle. Hunger, heat and exhaustion would soon become pressing issues. But with the thought of Pete upon the minds of all who tread, they would persevere.
For hours on end they ventured, following the Sea-Rat upon his blind quest for a scent that no others could catch. Now the sun had set, and the jungle became darkened by the evening dusk. They were chasing shadows, but even then, Lars did not speak out. He was too furious to care, he just wanted for Pete to jump out into the trail and be done with it.
Then; as soon as those thoughts of death swirled, the jungle parted, and Anglermaw came to a stop. The rest stumbled soon after, feasting their sharp eyes upon a tall, abandoned ziggurat that stood bathed under the cobalt sky. The cobbled staircase that lead up the edifice was destroyed, only reachable by a wide leap that perhaps only the Sea-Rat was capable of. Though this mattered little when one looked toward the centre structure to find a ruined, overarching colonnade that lead into a conservatory -- what possibly lay within was shadowed under the evening. The soil around the grey monolith was lifeless; no foliage grew upon the ground, no beast great or small chirped and hissed for miles. But it was the freezing chill that surrounded the structure which pricked the ears of the host, realising that this forlorn temple was not so simply abandoned.
"I can smell the musk here, but... but-but..." Anglermaw scratched upon his matted fur, dumbfounded. "There ain't no-no Ark around here. Summat's up."
Malice coursed through the soundless air, eerily obvious to the Elves and the manfolk. The danger of Pete seemed paltry to what horrors were held within this ancient structure
Lars' reply was one of complete silence, swaying himself around to the Elf before granting him a nod of approval. Then he wiped the grime from his linen shirt, flinging the slime toward the grass like globules of sticky tar. Hans would simply look on, staring mute with a clear wish not to interject himself, awkwardly joining the Marienburger in wiping away the filth from his clothes.
"Captain?! Ha, never thought I'd be called that again." Anglermaw chuckled. "Better get movin' before the fresh dead drown that musk out-yeah." He continued, skittering to the front of the host. And so with half of their numbers gone, and ignorant of the tension that surrounded the folk like the odious stench that wafted around the screaming totem, they marched forth.
Anglermaw's trail was oddly convenient as the Cothiquans marched behind him, almost like a set path, strangely out of place within the wild jungles of Lustria. Of course, the serpentine trail was blackened under the canopy of the afternoon jungle. Hunger, heat and exhaustion would soon become pressing issues. But with the thought of Pete upon the minds of all who tread, they would persevere.
For hours on end they ventured, following the Sea-Rat upon his blind quest for a scent that no others could catch. Now the sun had set, and the jungle became darkened by the evening dusk. They were chasing shadows, but even then, Lars did not speak out. He was too furious to care, he just wanted for Pete to jump out into the trail and be done with it.
Then; as soon as those thoughts of death swirled, the jungle parted, and Anglermaw came to a stop. The rest stumbled soon after, feasting their sharp eyes upon a tall, abandoned ziggurat that stood bathed under the cobalt sky. The cobbled staircase that lead up the edifice was destroyed, only reachable by a wide leap that perhaps only the Sea-Rat was capable of. Though this mattered little when one looked toward the centre structure to find a ruined, overarching colonnade that lead into a conservatory -- what possibly lay within was shadowed under the evening. The soil around the grey monolith was lifeless; no foliage grew upon the ground, no beast great or small chirped and hissed for miles. But it was the freezing chill that surrounded the structure which pricked the ears of the host, realising that this forlorn temple was not so simply abandoned.
"I can smell the musk here, but... but-but..." Anglermaw scratched upon his matted fur, dumbfounded. "There ain't no-no Ark around here. Summat's up."
Malice coursed through the soundless air, eerily obvious to the Elves and the manfolk. The danger of Pete seemed paltry to what horrors were held within this ancient structure
Within forty minutes of the hosts leaving the swamps the numerous small forms of the Lizardmen emerged around the swamp. Hidden in the shadows of the foliage where numerous of the small hidden forms looked over the swampland. The freshly killed bodies had a scent somewhat different to the decaying rot of the waterlogged bodies. On the bodies were numerous small birds and reptiles feasting on their flesh. The Elven meat being torn off by a dog sized theropod with dull dark green skin and small beady eyes. It tore off a strip off flesh from the Elves cheek and flung its head back to swallow. The mysterious figures emerged from the foliage. They were hunched and just under five foot tall. They were unlike their Skink brethren as they were green with rougher looking skin and rounded, sphere like eyes that rolled around. They wore numerous small bangles on their arms and legs as well as small poisonous toads of various colours on their arms and thighs. A bag of darts sat on each ones waist and each had a blowgun. In total there were five of them. They crept from the shadows and looked over the area for clues.
By this point the smoke had been reduced to a faint haze in the air as the burning debree was merely smoldering in the heat. The five Chameleon Skinks wandered around the area and took note of the corpses and signs of the carnage. Their tongues flickered and eyes darted around curiously. They examined it all and moved to the footprints. Taking note of several sets going in one direction and and going in the opposite were a majority more. The footsteps of lower number seemed to be the direction they came from. Noting the amount of intruders to their jungle home and taking mental notes the Chemeleon Skinks scurry back to the trees. Quickly adjusting to the foliage the Skinks were soon gone from sight completely invisible in the dark trees. Shortly afterwards they met up with the other blue Skinks from their party and reported their find. The group took note that they others had gotten far away by now. It was about two hours since the Elven host had left. Several hissing commands led the group to move out again. Following the others deeper into the jungle while two of the Chameleon Skinks went back to find the smaller group that went off on their own back the way they came.
Fal was silent like the others as they went for several hours into the Jungle. Moving behind the Anglermaw as he led the way Celedron kept his wits about him to notice if the eerily ominous Pete was nearby. He looked back at Anglermaw, ever cautious of the treachery of the Skaven. They noted the exhaustion of the crew but needed to keep moving. Rest would not be worthwhile until they gathered at an acceptable position where they could fully and relatively safely plan their next move. After several hours they came upon the ancient Ziggurat. A mighty and ancient structure that was around centuries before any of the Elves that resided currently in the Jungle. Anglermaw's loss of the ark instantly drew ire from everyone around. Celedron went from admiring the structure to a look of hatred to the Skaven.
"Explain yourself. How could you have suddenly lost it?" Celedron gave the Rat a spiteful look as he gave his staph a might thump against the ground. Fal's eyes widened at the statement as he had his hand on his blade. He would be ready and happy to kill Anglermaw should he have led them astray.
By this point the smoke had been reduced to a faint haze in the air as the burning debree was merely smoldering in the heat. The five Chameleon Skinks wandered around the area and took note of the corpses and signs of the carnage. Their tongues flickered and eyes darted around curiously. They examined it all and moved to the footprints. Taking note of several sets going in one direction and and going in the opposite were a majority more. The footsteps of lower number seemed to be the direction they came from. Noting the amount of intruders to their jungle home and taking mental notes the Chemeleon Skinks scurry back to the trees. Quickly adjusting to the foliage the Skinks were soon gone from sight completely invisible in the dark trees. Shortly afterwards they met up with the other blue Skinks from their party and reported their find. The group took note that they others had gotten far away by now. It was about two hours since the Elven host had left. Several hissing commands led the group to move out again. Following the others deeper into the jungle while two of the Chameleon Skinks went back to find the smaller group that went off on their own back the way they came.
Fal was silent like the others as they went for several hours into the Jungle. Moving behind the Anglermaw as he led the way Celedron kept his wits about him to notice if the eerily ominous Pete was nearby. He looked back at Anglermaw, ever cautious of the treachery of the Skaven. They noted the exhaustion of the crew but needed to keep moving. Rest would not be worthwhile until they gathered at an acceptable position where they could fully and relatively safely plan their next move. After several hours they came upon the ancient Ziggurat. A mighty and ancient structure that was around centuries before any of the Elves that resided currently in the Jungle. Anglermaw's loss of the ark instantly drew ire from everyone around. Celedron went from admiring the structure to a look of hatred to the Skaven.
"Explain yourself. How could you have suddenly lost it?" Celedron gave the Rat a spiteful look as he gave his staph a might thump against the ground. Fal's eyes widened at the statement as he had his hand on his blade. He would be ready and happy to kill Anglermaw should he have led them astray.
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