Quoted By:
<span class="mu-i">Yes-yes, my children, work-work your magics through my blessings. Make-make disease to bring down and kill-kill elf-things !</span>
The Horned Rat happily rubs its paws at the scene before him.
Despite the occasional explosion off in the distance, a sign of the on-going civil war, great effort had been undertaken. The grey seer had rallied another twelve of his ilk to conduct the ritual. Numerous warptokens had been “appropriated” from the dead Clanlords for this most fetid of tasks.
Large bubbling cauldrons glow green as the grey seers continuously inscribe the Horned Rat’s symbols as other mystical incantations onto the cauldrons. Stirring the pot, the grey seers continuously channel their magics into it all the while, other ratmen are rushing around, going up and down the shoddy platforms leading to the top of the cauldrons and the various side buildings.
Throwing in various magic components: a witch’s hand, a vial of troll blood (yes, including the glass), a rather hefty lump of warpstone, an entire skaven…hmmm ? Oh, he slipped in. The grey seer in charge of the cauldron just shrugs his shoulders after a moment of thought and continues stirring.
Coughing heavily, the lead grey seer overlooks the surroundings, his eyes burning from the still all-encompassing smoke and the raging fires somewhere far off.
“What is taking so long-long ?” The leading grey seer asks clambering to the top of one of the cauldrons.
Another grey seer grunts in annoyance. “No test elf-cattle.”
The first grey seer, seemingly struck by the issue before it begins to ponder. “Test-test on slaves.” He finally reaches the perfect solution of just ignoring the issue.
Suddenly, the grey seer’s hair rises as a creaking noise echoes out in the courtyards.
You watch as one of the skaven, a simple clanrat seemingly, with a hammer and a chisel is busy hammering in symbols stops.
His ears stand straight up. “Nyeh ?” Cracks begin to spread across the cauldron, growing ever wider and longer, originating from one of the symbols the clanrat had carved. “AAAA !” Screaming a top of his lungs, the clanrat begins to run for its life as the cauldron breaks and collapses, unleashing litres upon litres of the green liquid.
With curses, the grey seer in charge of the cauldron sees his platform collapse, and as his last spiteful action, before he falls into the cauldron and sufferers a horrific death, the grey seer unleashes powerful magics that let out a cloud of pestilent disease that seems to slow everyone around, catching the ratmen at the edge of the cauldron that might have been able to escape.
And all those caught by the liquid are scalded and the sheer corrosiveness of the poison sees them melt alive.
“Less-less acid, more-more troll’s blood.” The leading grey seer says to his peer before clambering down from the cauldron, uncaring to what is happening behind him.
