Mist formed at the base of the basalt walls, apparitions and wraith like shapes swirled amongst the whiteness.
Spirits, raised by those within. Seeking, to ward against those without. Atop the ramparts walked less etheric guardians, ebon mailed invested, their black and crimson skin damp with moisture from the fogs permeating the region of late.
In a gloomy meeting room deep within the keep, folk sat about a parchment laden table, several guards surrounded them, both human and demon, weapons drawn, eyes hard, teeth clenched. Death was close.
The bishop of Eagles Reach smiled. Without, warmth. “Your, petty threats fall upon deaf ears, Vurkhal. We would crush your tiny enclave in a moment.”
The invested starred through dark bangs of hair at the ruddy faced churchman. His words were quiet but filled with menace. Think not that we are alone Celestian. Our northron bothers may ride greenskins many leagues hence, but they are legion and their wychkin can dump enough of them very quickly into imperial lands….”
The bishop stood his fists planted atop the table. “Perendar is warded against….!”
Vurkhal now smiled. “There are softer, fatter targets than Perendar good bishop. Let us cease posturing and get back to terms”.