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‘Wither and split, blacken and crack!’ screamed Kratsik as a thicket of sylvaneth dropped from the trees.He swung his plague censer furiously, fumes spilling over the Brotherhood of the Red Boil as they scurried beside him. At his back, the Plague Furnace rumbled and creaked. Rot-smog billowed from it, melting branches and dissolving those luckless skaven standing downwind.

Somewhere great Vermalanx was lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting for his moment to strike. There would likely be hundreds more tree-things skulking around, too, encircling the skaven encampment in a devious ambush. As though the thought had summoned them, lithe shapes emerged from the treeline. The Dryads darted forward, talons whipping out to impale a band of luckless Plague Censer Bearers.

‘Now!’ shouted Kratsik, ‘Kill-kill!’ At the head of a tide of plague-ridden ratmen, he charged frothing into the fight. There was no better way to prove devotion than with blood sacrifice, after all – and as usual, Kratsik intended to be on the right end of the knife.

Fuentes Editar

  • The Quest for Ghal Maraz.

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