Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Map - Year 7, Deployment

As dawn broke on the Isle of Smiths a rider spurred his mount onward over the low hills and into the pasture land beyond. The ruins of the human town was the rider's goal, there to convey news of the most base of treacheries to his master.

For a day after hearing the reports from the West, Morbius quietly seethed. 

Honour, honour the humans and dwarves rattled on about. Honour the dwarves had spoken of as he gave them the ogre's fortresses. Honour was the word of the day when his assassins had sunk the drow ships on Norslatch. Granted, they had given the humans a greater headache after being marooned, but the intention had been to help. Overall.

Eventually, Morbius rose and gave a great sigh. Perhaps it was time to find a new friend. One that did not harp on about honour so much. He looked out the shattered window at the silent ranks of his undead followers, patiently awaiting his will.

"Ultimately, one supposes, this is what comes of treating with the living." Morbius spoke aloud, to nobody in particular.

As one, his entire army broke from it's reverie, pivoted on the spot in perfect unison, and began the long march West. All but the rider, who now had another message to deliver.

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