Vakshena was enjoying her stride. It had been long decades since last the embarked upon raids to the south and her arm had only gotten stronger since. The journey was, while boring, pleasant, as no foes had yet dared oppose the great norther prong of the host. The dead steppe with its yellow hued grass provided a pleasant backdrop, while the Frozen sea proved a livelely companion for the long march, with cold whipping winds swooping down from the roaring waves which eternally cracked, broke and then smashed apart the almost formed ice cower. Vakshena enjoyed it. Each time the wind would swoop down, whistling more like a harpy than like anything the beastfolk or the wastelanders were used to, causing the column to huddle together tighter, seek just that bit of comfort and warmth. That she loved. She and her chaos plate clad, both those chosen by gods and awarded for their great deeds and those that bought their plates with plunder from their many campaigns to the bearded armorsmiths, neither of them shivered. Neither of them tired. They marched on, enjoying the call of the sea, the whipping of the wind, the roar of mighty sea beasts that hailed them on their journey. Her meditation was broken by a white stallion.
“Lords Krantagarh, Sarrick and Magor!” A horrific creature screeched at the three as it rode closer upon a great white stallion. “I am sent to aid you!”
The three warchiefs looked at the pityful sight. A man, perhaps, this had once been. It stood no taller than a southlanders hip, being barely more than skin and bones, naked except for a thick chain wrapped around its neck and two monkey like arms, the face a deformed, underfed grimace of pain, holding a staff twice its height, while not reaching the length of a man laid out on the floor, all riding atop a stallion most would kill for, which only accented the poor state of the thing on its back. “Halt your hosts!” It cried, most amusingly to the great minotaur.
The three chiefs, amused, did as instructed, the stallion knelt, letting the cursed creature step off its back, and then with effort beyond most men, walked to the cold coast, shivering too much for health. The monkey-like creature raised the staff, chanted for a minute, then thrust it down into the icy sea. A moment later, the great crashing of ice thundered through the air and the sheets and chunks of ice pressed up against the coast, forming a solid surface thick enough even for minotaurs to run upon, while the little creature collapsed of exhaustion.
“Make sure he lives.” Vakshena said as she grabbed a hung barbarian. “Or else you won’t.”
The forces deploying to the Wheatlands, that being:
>>5977777 Krantagarh >>5977990 Magor >>5977835 Sarrick Are to mark their deployments with letters (M - minotaur, C - centigor, G - gor, U - ungor, CW -chaos warriors, HS - hung savages) east of the yellow line and draw arrows noting their movements. Same as with other, first come first serve. Ice (white) functions the same as steppe.
