As Warchief Iron Claw headed towards the meeting room, the first shaman to leave the room addressed him.

"Greetings to the plague caller, Rotclaw."

With a short grunt, Ironclaw respectfully addressed Rotclaw, after all in this type of environment power was respected. Rotclaw advanced with a short grunt, after all Verminous had entrusted him with a very difficult mission, with an uncertain time to complete, and he did not want to waste it with simple talks.

"Ironclaw, Dreadlord Verminous has ordered me to collect a thousand of your newly captured slaves."

Rotclaw finished the sentence with a touch of haste. After all, the sooner he recognized the slaves, the sooner he could save his life. Ironclaw, with a suspicious gleam in his eyes, advanced at the order of the shaman in front of him. He knew that the shaman was in a hurry; After all, Dreadlord Verminous was not known for his patience.

"I will send the order to send the slaves as soon as possible, the one who brings the plague, your excellency Rotclaw."

After that brief conversation, Rotclaw quickly left. Ironclaw looked at his back for a moment before returning to the room where Verminous was waiting for him. Ironclaw reached the imposing metal doors. He looked at the decorations adorning the doors, with runes in shades of green, black, and crimson, symbolizing the magic and power of Vorthul, the Plaguebringer.

After calming his nerves, Ironclaw prepared to open the door with his large claws. When the door opened with a metallic creak, Ironclaw faltered in mid-step, overcome by a wave of fear that coursed through his entire body. His limbs tensed, his tail bristled, and his fur stood on end as a primal fear took hold of him. The Dreadlord Verminous stood before him, his emotions unbridled and his anger evident for all to see. Verminous noticed Ironclaw's presence and, after a brief moment, managed to quell his anger.

"Ironclaw, you will accompany the Blighthorn shaman north and eliminate all rats who dare to set foot in the Blightskulk clan."

Ironclaw, having managed to calm his fear, let out a short sigh of relief.

"Warchief Ironclaw greets Dreadlord Verminous and the shadow plague Blighthorn."

After receiving Verminous' orders, Ironclaw and Blighthorn quickly left, leaving the room to gradually return to its silent atmosphere. Verminous leaned back in his seat, a fleeting thought passing through his mind. "Sableclaw Marauder Clan...wiping out your clan will be a kind gesture." As he contemplated the fate of the rival clan, Verminous's crimson eyes shone like two blood diamonds.

"Damn, and here I thought things couldn't get any worse," I thought as the soldiers took me and hundreds of other slaves to God knows where.

"Move, you little vermin! Haha! Rotclaw the Plaguecaller demands your presence immediately."

After a walk and more insults from these bastards we arrived at what appeared to be a church. I use the term "church" because it is the closest thing I can remember to what I am seeing. The structure loomed before us, a mix of wood, stone and iron, its architecture seeming a grotesque mockery of traditional churches. Instead of elegant lines, jagged spiers and warped arches twisted upward, creating a sinister silhouette against the dim light. Strange symbols adorned every surface.

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"What the hell is this place?" I muttered to myself as we approached the imposing doors, which looked like they belonged in a haunted house. As we got closer, I noticed a small group of hooded rats standing nearby, their presence adding to the creepy atmosphere of the place.

With gnawed robes, they were standing in a group of ten, the most striking thing was the symbol they had on their upper chest, it was a triangle made of bones, and with the skull of a rat on a green background. As I observed the peculiar group, one of the rats approached us. The guard, who had been hurling insults and even hitting us moments ago, stiffened as he watched one of the mysterious hooded figures advance.

"Have you brought all the slaves?" The hooded figure approached us and directed the question to the guard. The visibly nervous guard nodded and replied, "Of course, my lord. They are all safe and sound." After staring at him for a few seconds, I could see how the guard was shaking more and more. These hooded figures must hold some higher status in the clan hierarchy, or at least higher than the guards who escorted us.

"From here, we will take them. Rotclaw, the Plaguecaller, awaits," the hooded figure declared before the guards hurriedly departed. The priests, recognizable by their distinctive attire, then ushered us inside the church. As I had suspected, the interior was shrouded in darkness and adorned with fantastical elements. Statues depicting a colossal rat with horns caught my eye, particularly noteworthy were the six tails extending from its form. Other priests were engaged in what appeared to be worship, chanting praises to the statue and invoking the name "Vorthul."

After walking down a passage that led to the catacombs of the church, we arrived at a large room. The chamber was "decorated" with numerous tools reminiscent of a medieval dungeon used for torturing prisoners. A shiver ran through my body as I observed these instruments, but what puzzled me most were the numerous symbols adorning the walls and the numerous test tubes containing mostly bright greenish and brown liquids.

As I surveyed the chamber, my mind racing through countless possibilities and reasons for why so many of us would be brought to this place, a sudden cracking noise shattered the eerie silence. My eyes darted in the direction of the sound, and I froze in terror as a strange feeling washed over me, sensing a presence entering the chamber. A dark figure emerged from the shadows, its fur mottled and diseased, clinging to its emaciated body. Sickly green light seethed from its eyes, filling me with a sense of dread like I had never felt before. "Ah, it seems they've done their job well," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom as he looked at us all as disposable objects."

"Plaguecaller, we have brought the slaves as you ordered," the priest who brought us forth stepped forward, fear evident in his demeanor. "Very well, leave us," came the dismissive command, accompanied by a contemptuous tone. With a brief nod, he shooed away the group, leaving us alone in the now eerily silent chamber.

"Well, your fate is sealed, so let's be brief. I'll go to the next room, and you will proceed from left to right as I call you," he commanded tersely. With that, he strode towards the chamber he mentioned. But before disappearing inside, he turned back, a sadistic smile curling his lips. "Of course, you can try to run away." And with that taunting remark, he entered the other chamber, leaving us slaves alone in the chamber.

"Shit, as if I'm going to believe his bullshit," I thought, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Even the slightest attempt at escape would likely result in swift and deadly retribution. As I nervously contemplated our fate, the first slave was summoned. I watched in silent dread as the terrified slave, fur bristling with fear, shuffled forward towards the camera.

As more slaves were called forward, the group dwindled until only a third of us remained. Uncertainty gnawed at me, intensifying with each passing moment. My tail twitched erratically, resembling the rotor blades of a helicopter, while my fur stood on end as if it might detach from my body at any moment.

"Next," the dreaded word echoed once more, a relentless drumbeat in this chamber of despair. Sometimes it came quickly, other times it lingered, each iteration like a tolling bell in the recesses of my mind. With each call, the world around me seemed to still, every sound dampened, every movement slowed. My muscles tensed with anticipation as I realized it was my turn. With each step heavy as lead, I made my way towards my inevitable fate.