Scourge of the Greenskins
Taken From the Account 'Scourge of the Greenskins'
In the scathing, oppressive heat of the Nether, the Realm of the Fallen One, the blood-curdling screams of tormented Ghasts float eerily in the air. Contained in the gilded bookcases of Drauchriem, another distinct book lies in a bracket. Like the others, this fresh books is bound in leather as dark as obsidian and bears the golden insignia of the Undead Fyrste and inscribed in the cover is the title; Flagellum frondoso pellibus, Scourge of the Greenskins. Kamees, 33rd of Suns Smile, 1315
Continued in a text obviously with the aptitude of a skilled novelist, the text upon the parchment is golden in hue and is written with discernable flair As the scathing heat of the desert sun in Krugmar beated down upon the robed men wielding staves of gold, a gale of wind disturbed the ancient sands and threw them into the air, seemingly expressing feelings of a predetermined wrath, one that only the robed men could sense the reasoning for. The objectives of the robed men, us, I should state, were clear and simple. Set a whip upon the greenskins, the orcs, become the scourge of such a race, and put them in their rightful place in this world.
We advanced onward, coming to a large sandstone wall, and we knew we had reached the place. The Prophet, adorning his fearsome black robes trimmed with silver raised a staff and muttered some words behind his hood, words of an arcane origin that only The Chosen may hear. Spheres of destruction erupted from his staff, leaving behind them trails of fire and ash. 'Fireballs!' one greenskin cried, quickly enough that his screams were not cut short by our swift judgement. This was not the last to die by us.
Taking advantage of the greenskins lack of intelligence and swiftness to respond, we climbed the spires of Sanhar, the mongrel vermin town inhabiting the orcs, and began to rain down Nether upon the city of sand and dirt. As the sun set, casting an orange glow across the rooftops of the town, the differences between the glow of the sunset became almost indistinguishable from the fiery glow of the fires that were quickly spreading across the city like water upon rock.
At first, just few greenskins threatened to slay us, all unsuccessful, and all suffering the exact same tormented fate as the others who were swiftly cast down with remorseless judgement. Soon, as the vermin heard our lightning from afar, more came to throw themselves at us with such high zest in order to gain some ardent glory from a force superior to them. Such idiocy should not be tolerated. They too were slain. It soon became apparent, despite the filthy Aengul blood's best efforts, that we would prevail with such ease. It was with great joy that I set the 'great' Sage Okonkwo ablaze with my lightning. I even managed to find the opportunity to chuckle as I watched him frantically search for a way to extinguish the flames. He dissapeared behind a building, I can only assume he perished like the rest. A great blow to their cause, and symbolic of our absolute control over Aegis.
Our thirst for mortal blood being satisfied, we returned to our realm, Drauchriem. I am certain that we sent a cruel and harsh message that struck cold into the hearts of mortal vermin. We have become the whip, the scourge of Aegis. No one can dispute that. The power to destroy something is the absolute control over it. We have that power. Let us leave this text with these words which will hopefully inspire my brothers and sisters onto great things. If they would give their lives to defend their nation, their world, their entirety, then let us oblige them. Et terror vester, Fyrste.
