(Courage to Cowards: 67-Druchii Depredations(20)-Generational Abuse(10)+Black Ark Civil War(15)+Warpath Successes(35)+Diplomacy of Heroes(20)-Druchii Attentions(5)-Warband Slowing(5)=97/100)
It starts, as many things do, with a few tentative steps.
Once again, perhaps for the last time, you enter the slave tunnels and as a group begin to speak. Your passage through them has never gone unremarked by the Ark's inhabitants. Sadrina, Handmaiden of the Everqueen, eyes and ears of one of the most powerful women in the entire world. She speaks of hope, of joy, of the sweet taste of air gulped down one breath after another that can only truly be had after the collar around their throats is broken. Roland, knight of Bretonnia and noble hero who has already inspired so many, the tale and presence of whom has drawn Bretonnians from across the Ark who have been enslaved over the years. For some, they are but tales, these knights, told be wearied parents who have for better or worse had children upon the Ark for such is the length of their lives that the elves stole them from the coasts decades ago. A pinnacle of knighthood, here to rescue them, a champion of the Lady of the Lake, who's kind words and rumbling fury over the state of their being despite their enslavement sends many eyes to sparkling and heads to nodding. Roland cares for them, all of them, Bretonnian and not, to the point even the most heartbroken and weary of them all cannot deny it. He makes them feel like they are more than just a mass of flesh to be beaten in one direction or another. All of them are worth more than that.
Then comes you.
You wish you could speak as inspirationally as Sadrina, or show as much gentleness as Roland, but you cannot. You are just too damned angry, all the time right now, to manage that. So you don't even try. As the slaves take their steps out of the shadows of the slave tunnels and towards the nexus points, what they hear from you is that anger. A vicious and painful outrage that you know quite well, have felt it most keenly, but that they have been suppressing in themselves since the whips and spikes and poisons began to be applied to them. Something that the Druchii, for now, cannot do. How many abuses can you suffer before the dog bites back? How cornered and frightened must the rat be before it attacks? How can any of them, any of them, continue to lay down or scurry to hide, when the whole of the Claw of Dominion is burning above them? Perhaps it is a bit uncouth, but you went through the effort of having Johanna drag Lord Direblaze down with you, and you hold up his mutilated corpse to see for all of them. Then his son. Then more Druchii. Angrily, pointedly, you strip some of the Druchii of their weapons to show their naked pale bodies to the slaves, and smash them upon the ground. Offer them up to them in a gruesome display of desecration, offer them blades and bludgeons.
"These are the ones who have enslaved you, beaten you, starved you, tortured you, killed you!" You roar at them, and bring your foot down on a dead Druchii's head. "And now, smoke chokes you when you go out there, because they are burning. Your ears ring with their screams when you go out there, because they are dying."
Then you roll an entire wheelbarrow of dead Druchii down onto the ground in front of eyes of so many, from across the Old World and beyond, who's eyes shine not with the inspired hope of Sadrina or the burgeoning glorious self-worth and care of Roland, but with the spiteful and searing fury of purest hatred and wrath of a woman who is determined to kill anyone in her way to stop herself from becoming a widow. Those who were drawn to the side of the Handmaiden or the Bretonnian Knight are not those who partake in this, those are mobs that themselves are somewhat horrified by what they see, but you can see it in their eyes too. It doesn't burn as brightly, a candle compared to Dazh'z chariot, but it is there. Waiting. Seething. For a woman born of Kislev, you know quite well how powerful and how valuable a fire can be, either in the home, or in the heart. You've certainly helped ensure that the former is engulfed in a blaze you hope will go until this place is nothing but a scoured rock in the ocean, but in the latter? The latter you've only just now truly been able to fuel and spark.
"Bastards!" One of them, an older man who's hair has gone white from stress and pain with a body still rich with sinew and strength, grabs up a Druchii shield and brings it down on one of the bodies to start smashing it.
"My son…my son…!" A hissing Estalian woman grabs a sword and starts stabbing one of the Druchii bodies.
"You took everything from me…everything!" An Arabyan fellow snarls as he grabs a spear and drives it right into the mouth of one of the corpses and stomps on the body.
The dam breaks.
The angry people swarm out of the shadows of the tunnels and begin to extract what is just beginning to be their revenge. More and more of them, frenzied, furious, fighters one and all not because of whatever skills they might have had in life, but because of the animal within that is finally rearing back and braying for vengeance. Some of those who have rescued shy away from it all, especially the elves who look upon such barbarity with disdain and disgust. But others, such as Kerillian, seems to approve with dark satisfaction, while Johanna keeps her arms crossed and expression unreadable. The Lizardmen, rather surprisingly – though you know almost nothing about them so of course they're going to be surprising in most things they do – chitter to themselves. Though you would swear you see approval glittering in those reptilian eyes as they discuss what is being done.
"I do hope they won't kill me as we go about our own business next," Hultressa mentions to you after hours of traveling the tunnels and preaching a gospel of retribution and hate.
"We'll be targeting Druchii after this, living ones that they can hit, so I'd assume so," you say with a short, humorless laugh. "Speaking of that, you know where we are going next, right?"
"There are a few in particular that purchased the bulk of the Asur slaves taken most recently and in the past," the sorceress says, appearing uncaring of the fury on the face of the freed Asur at her words. "The Tor is out, as is the Temple of Khaine, but there are others we can target. How many will be there for us to find…that remains to be seen," she admits.
"Lead on, then," you gesture, and she nods before doing just that, stalking down the slave tunnel with purpose.
(The Noble Asur: 73+40+20+15+15+25+5-15+Ark Civil War[1d2=1](10)-Druchii Attentions(10)-Warband Slowing(10)-Marching Across The Claw(20)-Tor of Dominance Hoarding(15)-Temple Hoarding(15)-The Choicest Slaves(10)+Newest Recruits(15)=123/100)
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