King Belegar frowns at the eighth and final sapphire, which throbs with sullen energy as it objects, but King Belegar simply pushes harder. With a reluctant pop it clicks into place, and glows a sickly green for half a second before bursting back into clear blue light once more, and the seven others follow suit, an inner glow growing inside each.
In Karag Lhune, engineers glance up from their work as unseen energies thrum through the mountain's peak.
In Karag Nar, Wolf barks at the energies shuddering their way through the penthouse, more on general principle than due to any actual concern.
In Kvinn-Wyr, Trolls that have licked and gnawed at warpstone for decades shove and scratch and bite at each other for the chance to grab fistfuls of the stuff and shove them into their slavering maws as it crumbles from walls, leaving clean, bare stone underneath.
In Karag Mhonar, an ancient construct had reached a pre-set limit on how many warnings it would give to any given civilian and returned to its long vigil over a problem it could sense but could not combat. It nods once in satisfaction, a gesture taught to it millennia ago, and then reviews an internal list of priorities.
In Karag Rhyn, none remain alive to bear witness to the energies that crackle through bloodied corridors.
In Karag Yar, Skaven look up worriedly from their work, only for the bark of their overseer to set them back to work as they try to goad the captured Warp-Grinder into burrowing an escape route for them.
In Karag Zilfin, a dragon growls in protest without budging from its bed of gold and jewels. Can't a beast have a good sleep without one thing or another disturbing them?
In Karagril, for the first time since he was an apprentice, Thorek Ironbrow drops his hammer on his foot.
