Kriiak Sqwigfud, Humbel StawtsDruchii and Asur steel met in anger, the sound of metal on metal ringing with each clash. Shouts echoed across the battlefield, spoken in Druhir and Eltharin alike. Words of magic sung and hissed; Asur frozen solid, Druchii set aflame. And the tiniest of spores just underground, soaking up the magical residue as hungrily as the Chaos Gods devour souls.
Above ground, chaos ensued, the blood of the elder races soaking into the ground. That flow lead to death, that flow lead to life. The blood nourished the womb that had developed, housing that small spore. As the spore consumed magical residue and elder blood, it grew. The spore duplicated, the spore grew, sprouting arms and legs, a head and a small primitive brain, green skin. The process took mere minutes; minutes before, directly in front of a certain Druchii warrior, a Goblin burst from the ground.
Before the Goblins feet even touched the ground,
The Epic of Cirosmar NarinhilCirosmar Narinhil stalked through the streets of Hag Graef. Ever since he had been enlisted into the Blood Avarice, his life had been getting steadily better. He had been forced to leave the Black Guard, but he had been free to do as he pleased and his power had risen significantly since that fated day almost one hundred and fifty years past. The Witch King does not tolerate deserters. Thus, the Blood Avarice had a Druchii, who looked remarkably like Cirosmar, killed and collected the reward, while keeping the real Cirosmar very much alive.
Cirosmar attempted to distract himself from the past by concentrating on his breath feathering into the chill air. He needed to focus on his current mission, find a member of the Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica and get invited into its legions. He flexed his hands to keep the circulation going. Cold, dreary; it was an average day in the Land of Chill.
As the renegade Elf rounded a corner, he walked right into a High Borns r