>>5292156-
WHAT WAS THE ELDEST DOING?
ATTACKING THE RABID WOLF?
This wasn't trickery. This was a plan. The Bloody one wanted a new champion, but if the wolf- no. The wolf could change everything. If the wolf was angered, it would go after every piece on the board.
The trickster needed to hedge it's bets. It looked carefully, it wanted to look fast and natural, but it needed a secondary champion.
One that could work-
The Stallion?
The Crow?
The Giant?
The trickster smiled and moved a hand
>> Towards the Stallion>> Towards the Crow>> Towards The Giant. >> [REDACTED]>> and moved the hand back hitting the table. >> Towards the Hydra>> Across the board towards the reaper>> Towards the hawk>> his forces to challenge the Cyclops, two could play this game-
Colchis was a terrible place.
No place to raise a child.
No place for free thought.
No place outside the orthodoxy.
So the pariahs roamed.
Long ago their ancient allies said they would return no matter how long it took. They would return. The pariahs remembered they were not always from here. They knew their old home was terra. They kept to their law.
No Gods.
No Masters But Humanity.
Lorgar, probably came from terra she thought. The child was not even 13 and he was well over two meters and still growing.
He was a good son.
If only she could provide a better life besides raiding.
Lorgar, was helpful. He was a natural leader. He was charming. This change though- looking for the parts to the ship in the old text, was risky.
Raiding the pilgrims could bring down their inquisitors.
He put his large hand on her shoulder and looked down and smiled.
"It will be well mother. We will find these engines soon. And if we die, do not worry. At least we won't have to live under the yoke of our oppressor's, and one day- the Terrans will return and rid this world of it's wrongs. But you can't die to day, I cherish you and father too much."
"My son. You talk too much. Noise discipline! These pilgrims can hear us if we are too loud."
Lorgar nods.
And the pilgrims stop to talk to Cassar
And he cuts down the man with the weapon.
The horn is sounded and the charge begins.
You slice the throat of a temple guardian looking the other way and plunge your knife into a tattooed man. You weave around with your daggers and cut many down, your husband falling to the ground.
He would be fine.
"YOU SHALL NOT TAKE OUR RELIQUERY. YOUR FIFLTHY UNTOUCHABLE HANDS SHALL NOT TAINT OUR HOLIEST ARTIFACT." A voice shouted and a cold steel.
Then white hot pain.
You would not.
The spear from the guard with the eight pointed halo sneered right until his head was parted by your sons mace.
You cannot die.
Not yet.
