Whispers of the many new invaders of Aqshy spread quickly. More elusive, however, were the followers of Molog Blacktongue due to their 'sneakin taktikz'. What interested the lords to this group was the mount of it's boss who was crazy enough to bring a vulcha to fly on roasting winds. And the smell of roast poultry had Rhi'ol enticed.
Tracking such backwards creatures was of ease for the knights gifted with enhanced senses. The trap was too easily set. Fiendbloods lie in wait, trembling with anticipation, barely held back from prematurely spoiling the show about to happen. With strides that would be described as overconfident, had it been anyone else stealing the spotlight, our protagonists set the scene.
'Such animals make a mockery of intelligent life,' starts Thaa'ris.
'Lets teach them how to truly wield a blade.' finished Rhi'ol. 'Too weak to be an orruk, yet still foolish enough I had mistaken you for one!'
Killaboss Molog was well versed in the art of distracting the enemy with taunts and insults. Yet, those words, as if carried by a breath of the Dark Prince himself, evoked fury in him like he'd never felt before.
Angered, their ranks charged forward haphazardly and without conviction. At a flank, an enslaved trogg was laid low before it's wounds could even start to reknit themselves. The surrounding entourage parried and dispatched equally quickly. Rhi'ol thought about how the fun was almost completely sucked out of battle when it's this easy; almost.
Starting to regain his composure, the enemy commander tentatively joined the fray. Not quick enough did it attempt to enjoy the revelry we were gifting them, for quick on it's clawed heels, the slanngor warriors honed in on their prey. Spurred on by Lord Thaa'ris', they butchered the live meat set before them.
Only by the overstimulation of such a decadent slaughter distracting our depraved, where the evasive insects able to barely escape with their lives.