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BEHOLD
The rapine host from the Reach. Look upon their skin banners lofted on hide-poles. See how their tarnished weapons glimmer darkly in the noonday sun as they gather on a hill before the eastern city of Alliria. Wild scalp-taking orc tribes from the Spine. CENTAURS from the Taagi-Baara steppes. Reavers and bandits and every kind of filth, be they goblin or man. Even necromancers and undead count among their hideous numbers. Watch as they are beholden to the one who called them here, the great terror of the reach, the Emerald Death, Geladryx. Look as he folds his mighty wings and perches atop the hill, ready to bear witness to the slaughter to follow, directing his warlords, like Khurash of the Spine, to commence the assault.
"Beat the skin drums," Khurash roared, spittle flying from cruel, broad lips crushed and split by dozens of fights.
Behind him, the wild orcs and goblins of the mountains struck up their slow tattoo. Centaurs chanted and sung, the music haunting and terrible from their vibrating throats.
All around him, the scattered horde set to chopping down trees to make ladders and battering rams.
It had taken them more than a month of pressing through the Reach, burning and pillaging what villages they could, or pushing through the woods, beset by Rangers, before they finally reached Alliria.
Khurash smiled. Soon, blood would flow.
The rapine host from the Reach. Look upon their skin banners lofted on hide-poles. See how their tarnished weapons glimmer darkly in the noonday sun as they gather on a hill before the eastern city of Alliria. Wild scalp-taking orc tribes from the Spine. CENTAURS from the Taagi-Baara steppes. Reavers and bandits and every kind of filth, be they goblin or man. Even necromancers and undead count among their hideous numbers. Watch as they are beholden to the one who called them here, the great terror of the reach, the Emerald Death, Geladryx. Look as he folds his mighty wings and perches atop the hill, ready to bear witness to the slaughter to follow, directing his warlords, like Khurash of the Spine, to commence the assault.
"Beat the skin drums," Khurash roared, spittle flying from cruel, broad lips crushed and split by dozens of fights.
Behind him, the wild orcs and goblins of the mountains struck up their slow tattoo. Centaurs chanted and sung, the music haunting and terrible from their vibrating throats.
All around him, the scattered horde set to chopping down trees to make ladders and battering rams.
It had taken them more than a month of pressing through the Reach, burning and pillaging what villages they could, or pushing through the woods, beset by Rangers, before they finally reached Alliria.
Khurash smiled. Soon, blood would flow.
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