[center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/1bbdeb6c-71c0-4853-a9f2-6fc469a5041d.png[/img][/center] Water flowed from the gaps in his armour like rivers over a mountainside, pooling in lakes as he trudged out of the shallows and strode further inland. Most drained into the desert sands within moments, leaving glistening salt patches in their wake. Bitter puddles remained scattered in the shade of the largest iron monoliths. Something large and white, barely a speck at the titan’s feet, bolted out of the ground-shaking steps’ path. Crackling with renewed strength after a spell spent simmering down below the ocean’s surface, Narzhak’s eyes scanned the horizon. Sartravius’ lonely fire-hill was smoking again. Had he actually gotten something done in the time of a walk around the world? He squinted into the distance - sure enough, there was something that vaguely resembled the rearguard of a horde trudging over to where lay the riverlands, with what seemed to be smaller molds of the Phoenix hovering, rather disorderly, further north. The god found himself shaking his head in disapproval. That was Sartr's idea of an army? And, worst of all, it was going [i]west[/i]? [color=#CD2626][b]”Hrghm.”[/b][/color] The first thing he thought of was punishing such a parade of blunders with a surprise assault. The things down there were not only disorganised and unarmed, but facing the wrong way; carrying up enough kostral to make it quick, brutal and thorough would have been a moment's errand. But that, Narzhak thought, picking out a clam from a chink in his skin, would have been unsportsmanlike. For all he knew, those were just the worst training manoeuvres Galbar had ever seen, rather than the attack he was expecting. No, the best thing was to send a warning, a light sting of humiliation to punish this kind of carelessness. The giant's eyes lit up at the thought. He had just the thing for that. The Scar was three steps away, and the Pit one more below that. The Iron God paused to inhale the familiar smokes and ash of his home. He found himself more reluctant to leave again every time he dropped in, and the great alcove overlooking the passageway looked more and more inviting. Maybe it was the emptiness, he thought, idly extending a small hook from a finger to pry open the clam. Wherever he had gone, there had been little to excite a real thirst for a battle worthy of the name. Nothing measured up to him, nothing looked like worthwhile scrap material, and places to search were growing scarce. He shook the thought away. Once he was done with this, there would be time to go find something to busy him in person. Perhaps see if Ashalla had kept in shape since that time in the palace, and ask her what this tiny black sphere inside the clam was, and why it was there- Right, when he was done here. Narzhak snapped a claw, sending the rattle of iron ringing over the charred wastes. He did not have to wait long for a reply. Clouds of dust and ash rose from all sides and converged towards him, heralded by a thunder of hooves striking the ground. Thousands of black snouts, steely tusks, bloodshot eyes looked up, ears twitching in perplexity at the abrupt summons. The god’s four eyes found the one they sought immediately - his iron-grey back bristled a good few palms above the rest. [color=#CD2626][b]”You’ve been busy,”[/b][/color] he rumbled with some surprise, [color=#CD2626][b]”And you were the only one down here.”[/b][/color] “I do what I do,” the first boar answered with an impatient huff. [color=#CD2626][b]”That’s good and all, but we’ll need more than this now,”[/b][/color] Narzhak mused, one finger toying with the black pearl. He breathed out bloodlust, and the massive herd edged apart as its leader’s body began to grow and swell. His fur became like many razors locked together in a cuirass, his tusks like battering-rams, his hooves great enough to raze forests in a step. He snorted, and the air from his nostrils raised whirlwinds of black dust. “Now what?” he seemed to ask with the look of his still disproportionately small, beady eyes. [color=#CD2626][b]”Take a good pack and get up there,”[/b][/color] the god pointed, rather vaguely, to the direction where the surface supposedly lay, [color=#CD2626][b]”If you see a winged thing that looks like me, bring it to the place. I’ve got things for you to do. The rest of you, get back to, ghrm, doing what you do.”[/b][/color] The bulk of the beasts seemed all too glad to obey. With the ash from the boar patriarch’s hooves still settling on the black stone of the rift, the god turned to the cave mouth closest to his eyes. The kostral peering from it fell on the ground in prostration. He motioned with a finger, and they scurried off, soon returning with half-picked bones, mangled carcasses, scraps of iron and other refuse. As they piled up their trove, he idly flicked the pearl at his head. It sank into the metal of his face as though it were fluid, and dropped below. Bitter, he thought, crunching on it, but with a nice aftertaste if you pay attention. It could be worth the while to look for more. Later, he reminded himself, glancing at the now sizable amorphous heap of leftovers. The kostral had already wisely retreated into the tunnels. Narzhak breathed in hatred, letting it gather up in his lungs before releasing it into the waiting body- And choked as a cloud of terrible bitterness rose up to clog his throat. He tried to blow it out of the way, but it clung to him like something alive, scraping at the walls of his gullet as it crawled up, dangerously up- [color=#CD2626][b]”Aaghck!”[/b][/color] the god coughed, shards of iron and globs of black spittle hammering the rock around the cave, [color=#CD2626][b]”Ghkhaaph! The spit they - phagh! - made something this - khaack! - rotten for - bhahgh!”[/b][/color] [color=saddlebrown]“I get wanting to chew something,”[/color] an unfamiliar voice like the scraping of rusted metal said from the cliffside, [color=saddlebrown]“But really, you don't check your stuff first?”[/color] Perched where the mass of the refuse had been was a hunkered figure of grime-spattered iron. Its body was a patchwork of near-disjointed plates, their jagged edges interlocking like the pieces of a battered jigsaw. Sharp ridges ran along the exterior of its long arms, from spiked shoulders to four-digit hands. Miraculously, the scratched mark of the Bloodied Fist on the corner of its chestplate was not only recognisable as such, but mostly upright. A finger flicked up the creature's grilled visor, revealing the only visible part of its body. Encased between the dome-shaped studded helmet and the high gorget ridges was a patch of rough grey skin with no features beyond a large mouth in the center. It bared an alarming number of knifelike yellow teeth in a lopsided grin and licked its lipless edges with a dripping rope of black flesh. [color=#CD2626][b]”Because you would have,”[/b][/color] Narzhak growled. The creature shrugged, sneering. [color=#CD2626][b]”And who’re you supposed to be?”[/b][/color] [color=saddlebrown]“I’m, uh...”[/color] the ghastly being picked between his teeth with a finger. His grotesquely long tongue darted out to smell the puddle of filth remaining at his feet. [color=saddlebrown]“What’d your slaves call it? Vrog? Not like anyone else’ll know.”[/color] [color=#CD2626][b]”If you say so. All [i]I[/i] know-”[/b][/color] the god raised a finger, poising it for a flick, [color=#CD2626][b]”-is I could use less [i]vrog[/i] in my house. Out with you!”[/b][/color] With a single snap of the gigantic fingertip, Vrog and the ledge he was crouching on were sent flying towards the plateau that led to the surface. The Iron God heavily shifted his head from side to side. He could start over again and have someone better done in time, but impatience mounted where the bitter taste had finally dissipated. Be done with this, and then… Besides, he had not been expecting much from this to begin with. All it did was confirm his suspicion: a pile of vrog would stay a pile of vrog no matter what. [hr] The gathering that met around the Scar’s central fissure soon afterwards was as complete a war council as had ever met on Galbar to that day, which was not to the credit of war councils. The boar patriarch sharpened its tusks on a floating piece of rock in as much tedium as his snout could express, his herd sprawled and rolling on their sides nearby. The Omen, perched over a large pitfall, looked as sinister as it was unhelpful for any sort of contribution to an assembly; the few stray ghouls on its back were little better. The finishing blow to the council’s credibility was perhaps that Vrog, still sneering and apparently not much the worse for his recent flight, was the closest it seemed to have to a competent member. Mercifully, its leader was determined to keep the hearing brief. [color=#CD2626][b]”You,”[/b][/color] the shadow of Narzhak’s pointing arm fell over the boar pack, claw outstretched towards the west, [color=#CD2626][b]”take the footsoldiers. Run them down all you like, take down the leader if you’re feeling like it. Just leave a few standing. You,”[/b][/color] he motioned to Vrog and the Omen, [color=#CD2626][b]”find a way to get those things out of the sky. With how visible they are, we might not need it now, but I want something ready the next time they come up. I’ll take the east.”[/b][/color] The last part was remarkably unspecific. [color=#CD2626][b]”Get to it.”[/b][/color] The earth shook a few times before the god disappeared beyond the horizon. The boars were soon gone in the opposite direction, clouds of black dust covering their rear. Vrog tasted the air with a few lashes of the tongue and nodded to his newfound subordinates. [color=saddlebrown]“Lucky we’re not stuck doing the lifting this time. Or I’m not,”[/color] he added, climbing atop the winged monstrosity in a froglike bound. [color=saddlebrown]“First things first, there’s one step a war can’t go without, and it’s...”[/color] [hr] [color=saddlebrown]“...not this.”[/color] A chewed seed sac was spat onto the bloodied ground, going to join a considerable pile of plants, insects and small rodents marked with the cuts of pointed teeth. Vrog scraped the remains of the blossom out of his mouth and picked up another grey-reddish pod. He probed it from all sides, coiling his tongue around it, then tossed it into his maw and began to munch. A few moments later, the mangled pod landed on top of the other discarded attempts. [color=saddlebrown]“Not this either.”[/color] It seemed the whole Steppes did not have a single thing to keep his jaws busy. Maybe this next thick-stalked weed would do better, but by this point he was beginning to think he might need to start searching elsewhere. He twirled the uprooted plant between thick iron fingers. The pods on this one were too large to be chewed whole. He plucked a steely-coloured seed out from a cluster and bit into it. The thickness was good, and the taste- The taste was about right. He might just have been tired of sampling, but this one would just do for now. Vrog spat out the husk with a satisfying whistle. Chewing felt good, of course, but the part that came after was just as important. In fact, he could make it hurt. A seed was tossed into the air, and his tongue caught it with a sharp lash mid-flight. It burst open like an overripe fruit, scattering into a cloud of dust that drifted away over his head, into the depth of the steppe, past the staring ghouls on the Omen’s back. Some grains settled on the dead plant on his hand, and he clicked with pleasure as the kernels still hanging from it grew pointed and sharp. He snapped one off, bit it open and spat the husk with force. It flew like an arrow, sticking into the ground where it hit. That was sure to be painful. The weed slipped comfortably into a gap on his side. Vrog didn't know much about plants, but what he had down there should have been good enough for it to take root. He wasn't going to haul himself back here whenever he was done with one stalk. Speaking of which. [color=saddlebrown]“Second step,”[/color] he said aloud, hoisting a large metallic flask, [color=saddlebrown]“off to the Cauldron.”[/color] [hider=That was a tonal jump] Dropping back on the Foot for a bit while on his tour, Narzhak sees the rearguard of Sartr's armies marching off to the west, and decides to teach them a lesson for leaving their back so carelessly open. He picks up the first boar, who was busy populating the Pit with more ferocious swine, makes it gigantic and sends it with a herd of its spawn to hit the fire giant horde from behind. He then tries to animate a collection of scrap and spare parts into a servant, but this backfires when he eats a soul oyster pearl he had found in the ocean - he chokes on the soul ash residue and unwittingly coughs up a piece of himself. The result is Vrog the Devourer, a fellow with a big mouth he likes to keep busy. (His name, a kostral word meaning “garbage”, implies the kostral are developing spoken languages of their own.) Vrog, the Omen of War and some ghouls are tasked with inventing something to kill dragons, but the former is more interested in slacking off and creating weaponised semki. Narzhak himself heads east to search for something to wrestle with and find out more about the black pearls. [/hider] [hider=Might Summary] [b][u]Narzhak[/u][/b] [u]Before:[/u] 5 MP, 10 FP [list] [*] 2 MP spent on Vrog the Devourer, an avatar. [*] 1 FP (bolstered by War portfolio) spent on pit boars, a ferocious breed. They make superb warbeasts if tamed. [*] 2 FP spent on the boar Patriarch, an extraordinarily powerful beast. [*] 0 FP (discounted from 1) to bless dartweed, a plant native to the Charnel Steppes, with sharpened seed husks. If spat by someone skilled, they can be lethal. [/list] [u]After:[/u] 3 MP, 7 FP [/hider]