-North Warrens, Black Gulch-
For the races of Thea, magic is a curious phenomenon.
Some say magic is derived from the Gods. It is a Gift bequeathed to only a chosen few who show devotion to a specific deity. For such weavers of magic, their powers are a product of divine ordainment – a sign that their deity looks down with favor upon them.
Another, alternate theory asserts that such magic comes not from Gods, but from belief itself. Magic, some scholars say, is derived not from otherworldly celestial beings, but through passionate emotions given form by sheer willpower and devotion to ideals that form the foundation of one’s being.
For the ratpriests of the Underkingdom, there is no debate.
Twenty Gloomraava of Clan Glumrot stood at the edge of the Black Gulch, appearing out of the shadows of their tunnels to witness the marauding second army of Skegga. The yipping red demons crossed the narrow bridges of the Gulch with murderous intent, unaware of the destruction currently being visited upon their God. To them, they had been given the easy job – they had been selected to bleed the ratman in the West and cut off any potential for escape. Yet, as they marched the Gloomraav of Glumrot saw that the viciousness of these creatures was tempered, somewhat. Their limbs were either hewn too short, their legs stubby and uneven, or their backs hunched and distorted. They looked primitive - mutated beings that seemed pathetic even amongst the ranks of the screeching demons, but the Gloomraav soon nodded to each other as these sights confirmed the Shai-Alud’s prediction.
“They are being the weak,” one of their hooded number said.
“And the invalid,” another agreed. “Skegga is leaving them to do dirty work. He is not wanting weaklings with him on his victory.”
“If that is being so, then he is a fool God. He is not understanding that the body may be weak, but the faith can still be strong.”
The other Gloomraav bowed their heads to the one that had just spoke – the head of their faction now that Talon-Leader Verulex had passed to the pox-garden of the Unclean One. Resplendent in his maggot-infested robes hiding pallid skin that seemed to endlessly shed his hair, this Gloomraav held back his choir before they delivered their chorus that would shake these Warrens asunder.
“These Kobolds shall soon be seeing that there is only one God to be following,” he said. “He-Who-Festers does not require strength. All he requires is endurance.”
“So shall it be, Head-Priest Koresh,” the Gloomraava intoned. “By the fog and filthy air.”
Koresh nodded at the prayer and signaled for his men to move out, slowly creeping their way towards the position Sire Marcus had marked for them – a high, craggy ledge high above the Gulch, one that oversaw the Gulchnavel village and its recently evacuated Fort Greenwatch on the edge of the fungal sea.
From atop that vantage point they knelt and watched, uttering prayers to the Unclean as the Kobolds spilled over the village and ransacked its houses with wild abandon, taking out their anger at having been left behind by their Lord. They were left with only confusion, however, as they came to realize with each break and stab and crash that there were no rats here. They were long gone.
And they grew so enraged that Koresh swore he could smell their anger.
They abandoned the village and bore down on the fort like a swelling red sea, teeth awash with spittle and spume, throwing themselves at the walls. One thousand Kobolds crashed through the ramparts of Fort Greenwatch, collapsing its buildings and gnawing on its very towers until they too came crashing down.
“Are you feeling it, Brothers?” Koresh asked. “The fury. The rage. Directionless and lacking. These Kobolds are being more like us than we are admitting, Brothers. It is as the Shai-Alud says – all creatures under the dark skies of the Unclean should be given the chance to bathe in his putrid light. Only then can we be carrying such light to the surface.”
The Gloomraav coven nodded, each one beating his staff or flimsy, fly-covered fetish against the black stones of the Underkingdom, each one adding his own voice to the chant that was picking up all around them.
“Be feeling it, Brothers,” Koresh continued, breathing in the stale air and feeling – yes – feeling the power of He-Who-Festers boil his blood, rush through his veins, pool at the ends of his fingertips.
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He threw his arms wide, shaking in uncontrollable spasm as he took in the sight of the marauding Kobolds looting and pillaging, slashing at nothing and coming away empty-handed. Coming away with nothing but disappointment.
“Soon they shall be receiving a gift on this day more valuable than any bauble or trinket!” Koresh croaked, spittle flying from his gnarled lips like a rabid beast.
The chanting of his men continued, rising slowly as the destruction and disappointment continued below, and the swirling energy that the rats knew as nothing more than the essence of their God – the collective font of all the diseases and ugly things in the entire world – continued to enter them and make them its own, traveling through their every pore until their screams became a chorus of ecstasy.
“BE ILLUMINATING THEM, BROTHERS OF GLUMROT!” Koresh roared. The voice that echoed from his lungs was not his own.
The chants grew louder, till they reached a fever pitch that even the rampaging Kobolds could hear below. When they looked up, they saw nothing but hooded rats screaming a name they did not know. A name that meant nothing to them.
But a name that they would soon devote their entire lives to.
The first Yips to notice that something very bad was about to happen tried running, even knowing it was futile. They tried squirming away and, when they looked back over their shoulders, saw nothing but a green tide cascading towards them.
The Black Gulch had risen.
Geysers of the pool spurted and flared as though they were the limbs of an angered beast living beneath the cavern, and then slowly began to form into one gelatinous mass – a tsunami that roared with a sound that drowned out the collective cry of a thousand Kobolds as they dropped their weapons and sprinted for dear life.
But the others – those who knew their lives were now forfeit – dropped to their knees and begged for mercy.
Koresh saw. Not with his own eyes – but he saw. It was those Kobolds that the wave passed by as it came crashing down upon the army, swallowing them as well as the remains of the village and fort in its wake. The great deluge flushed away the evil of the North and cascaded through the tunnels in a great flood that flowed all the way to Knifegut fortress – where the spiderlings that had made that fort its home were swallowed, too – taking a few meals with them before their lives finally expired.
When it was over Koresh raised a single paw to silence his Gloomraav, and the evangelical rats began the slow, melodious chanting that brought the waters back to the Gulch, re-laying the foundations of their festering Lord’s lands back with proper respect and appropriate humility.
As Koresh looked on, even he was surprised by the power that came from the unity of the three Clans under Sire Marcus. Even on such a small scale…the powers of belief in the true God of their realm was intoxicating.
Many Gloomraav had perished in the wake of the miracle. At least seven had succumbed to the whims of the Power of their Lord and sat with their eyes rolled back, brains crushed and sizzled to mush. They would be laid to rest when the time came.
For his part, Head-Priest Koresh came out of his possession and amplified his voice with the remainder of his power. He was addressing those who had collapsed before the might of their Lord. Those who were currently on their hobbled knees, merely soaked unlike their dead cousins. There were at least four hundred who had prostrated themselves as the disaster hit them.
They would do.
“Kobolds of the Underkingdom!” Koresh screeched. “We of Glumrot are coming to you as emissaries of the Shai-Alud! We are showing you the power of the God he serves – the one true God of this dark realm we share. You have been led astray by the greed of the toad called Skegga. You have been left to die while he is coveting glory. He is thinking you are weak, and dumb. But we watched as you withstood the great tempest of our Lord and came out unscathed! We have found you worthy!”
He could sense the devotion building in them already. It would take time. It would take energy. But time was what they would have once this war was won. For priests like them, time is the most precious, useful resource.
“So we are calling upon you as our Unclean One does!” he screamed into the ever-night of the Underkingdom. “Rise and be standing with us! Be avenging yourselves by siding with the victors of this conflict! Be walking in the light of He-Who-Festers – for He and only He is loving you. He welcomes you. You shall be his children. You shall be his WARRIORS!”
The drenched demons didn’t even hesitate. They didn’t even share a single loyalist stare at the Yip who bent his head to the priests who had summoned such power with their bare hands. They simply bent low and kissed the ground. They said the name of the one who they would follow now. They said it out of fear, out of pain, and out of sorrow. But they still said it. And that was enough.
Koresh smiled beneath his hood, feeling his hands shake as his body gave out.
“Be sending word to the Shai-Alud,” he told one of his men. “We are succeeding. Now, it is being up to Deekius.”
And he turned to face the Eastern tunnels, staring into darkness as unconsciousness finally overtook him. He fought it. He told himself he had to – even just for a few minutes.
Because on the other side of the North Warrens, a very different miracle was about to take place.
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