The wagons kicked up dust and leaves as they traversed the broad winding track, laden with their living cargo and silk armoured guards. cross legged atop each wagon sat a chanting ritualist, holding the angry wylds at bay as they the people of the Sand plundered the rich flesh trade of the region.
The wylds council watched from the deep twisted foliage as the foe trundled by, anger evident on their taught faces, their fists clenched about their weapons. The fauna about them reacted symbiotically with their rage, power grew as the pent up aggression leapt from thorn to bush to twig to branch and then finally into the crouched waiting mob of wildborn.
The effect was instantaneous, the horde burst from the dense woods and in a screaming wave of hate fell upon the wagon train in a storm of claw, horns, axe and sword.
The council stepped forth and with baleful eyes tore the paltry ritualists to pieces with combined focused power.
It had begun.