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A cold sweat trickled down the Chosen's neck, absorbing into the cloth of his capirote. With a rising pulse, he breathed in a panic. The name he wished to discard was whispered into his ears by somebody who wasn't there.
'Are you even listenin' to me?!' Snapped the midget.
'I said, they've got fresh reinforcements from Easterlind City!' He rehashed; 'Shen Ce's now arrived, and they're giving our Warriors a helluva time down there in the Garbage Heap! Haven't been able to gain any ground, in fact we've lost some!'
The midget paced back and forth, throwing his arms up and down. It was like he thought he was the leader here.
'And to top it all off, shits lot of good those Inebriates did us. The fat barstords are all congregating underground, not helping!'
The underground, it has become a catacombs, filled with Rotgut. The fumes trickle up through vents and the sewers, leaking into the streets above. But compared to the advent, it was a breeze. One could not tell the Inebriates what to do, they were without a master. Not even Tenbhur could order the Inebriated around, it always came down to a fight. Now, those cultists the Chosen had brought were nicely settled, occupying the underbelly of Kloa. Useless to the cause.
Startled. The Chosen was startled. If anymore Shen Ce reinforcements were to arrive, and not far behind them, the Samurai, greatest of all concerns, then this will have all been for naught but a guileless bloodbath. It was clear the stalemate was hardly worth keeping up now, for by applying no pressure, the enemy was quick to amplify! It must be tipped now, but in the Chosen's favor.
For the Necromancers so report that now the Killer Worms had bred. They were swarming, nearly out of control. The time was nigh to begin building.
