Can you hear it...
Under all the racket?
Location: Dread's Camp
With: Dread, The Horde
Tauivae found nothing that gave her any idea as to why or how the village had abandoned, only that such a thing had come to pass. By the time the elf had ventured back into sight of the clearing, Dread was already hammering away at the scavenged iron and the snotlings were scrambling around looking for 'burnna stones' that he'd requested. While she didn't quite know what he'd meant, the snotlings understood well. A twisted grin made it's way across her features as the insane elf watched the completion of Dread's contraption. She snickered darkly, then raised a hand to hind her grin, a wretched gleam of excitement in her crimson eyes. “Oh...This is going to be fun...”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Six days later...
It amazed her that it had been a mere six days since Dread had made and donned the 'propagator'. The size of the horde had grown significantly and, at least part, of the village was no longer devoid of life. What time the elf didn't spend wandering in the forest or exploring the still abandoned part of the town, she spent observing the ork's camp. It was interesting to see their daily interactions and to learn about them, rather than slaughter them on a whim as she may have without Dread's allegiance and a need for an army. Something that she observed, if only to better understand the ones that she was working with. Things seemed to be going very well and this was beginning to make her suspicious.
Wrath had just returned from a wandering, just in time to hear Dread's defiant roaring. The Warboss had just taken down another challenger, some idiot or another that thought he was big and strong enough to take down their commander. Such foolishness...These creatures are almost as bad as humans, always fighting for dominance over the each other. At the least this lot settles it. Even if they do so with their fists and foreheads... The elf made a short derisive sound and made her way to Dread's tent. It was always best to find out what was going on, from the one who knew the most about the situation. She was alike to a black-clad ghost, moving silently through the camp to her destination.
The call to battle,
The Song of War.