(reservado por Adeptus Hispanus)
Through a vortex of warpflame, the Oracle peered down at its rat-like supplicant. For once, both the daemon’s heads were in agreement. This twitching, half-mechanical opportunist was no true champion of Chaos. Yet time was pressing. It would have to suffice.
‘Listen, then,’ said the Oracle’s left head. ‘I bid you breach Chamon at the Anvrok Dais and take battle to the Stormcast Eternals.’
‘Yes-yes,’ said the skaven warlord. ‘We know the ways. And in return…’
‘Do not tell me,’ said the Oracle’s right head, its boredom weighty enough to crush mountains, ‘you wish to usurp your leader’s position.’
The skaven warlord squeaked in glee. An incontinent dribble of warpfire squirted from his arm-cannon, hissing onto the ritual circle. Tendrils of foul smoke wound towards the invisible cracks in reality.
‘Very well,’ said the Oracle, gesturing theatrically as tradition dictated. ‘Kill the one called Hammerhand, and the fates shall align as you wish.’
‘Yes-yes!’ chittered the skaven, scampering into the darkness. ‘Biters! Drillfiends! Hurry! Follow the tell-smoke!’
- The Quest for Ghal Maraz.