Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » (CLOSED) Warhammer Fantasy: Doom Awaits (PART TWO)

Urechen crooked himself in the direction of his challenger, lurching the co-inhabitated body surface upon the Ark's frame. While Jujue and Skreptch squatted upon him like parasites and hijacked the nerves of his arms, the grey seer turned verminlord still had a semblence of majesty in the control of movement. He glowered at the elves while his usurpers bickered, their causes in life were now irrelevant, they served him, and they would submit to thralldom in due time. His fishbone cuirass rattled with dangling fetishes from the sea as he squatted upon his cloven hooves down to the height of his enemies.
"You have no power here, Elf-things." Urechen spat. He gaped his ethereal maw ajar as a geyser of salivary liquid spewed from his tongue, mists of condensation plumed from his snout. Brackish, boiling water hurled toward the pair like an aquatic cannonball. Anglermaw recognised the spell almost immediately, and flashbacks as a mere claw-captain flooded back into his conscience as he remembered Urechen's preferred form of execution of turn-tails and weaklings, by flaying fur and skin into steam with arcane, boiling water.

The super hot mist wreathed over Anglermaw's fur once the projectile passed toward him, wetting his figure with a false gleam of sweat, a superfluous consequence when compared to the burning sensation lathered over his skin, while he audibly yapped and hissed in discomfort to the dance of phantom hornets digging themselves across his fur. Puddles of boiling water hissed in protest as his feet jumped and skittered in reaction to the torturous current. The stinging mist passed in seconds, and despite the coursing pain, Supa-Kheti and his lizard-thing kin had not been stirred from their reverie. The steam wafted from their gesticulating limbs, courting some unknown deity in their Saurian tongue. The sensation Anglermaw had endured was impotent to them. If their Old Ones could deliver them, pain was simply a distraction. The skies above shook with arcane lightning that coruscated upon the clouds in a myriad of colours that reflected the elements of magic that combatted for dominance. Had Anglermaw been an esoteric scholar, he would have been able to deduce their colours of origin. Cyan Azyr thundered against the domineering clouds of acidic ruin, sputterings of decomposing rain speedily melted away the mast until thigh wide manholes dotted the panorama. Anglermaw felt the ship slowly teeter, it would not be long before his old prize would soon capsize.

So long as the Elves remained a distraction, Anglermaw hoped just this once that the prayers of the Lizardmen would be answered.

The strike of stream was unexpected. Stories told of great bull like Daemons spewing out fire or plague Daemons bellowing sickening acidic breath like a troll but he had never heard of steam of any form from a Daemon. It was more like taking on an engine of Nuln with their near mystical steam tanks. Flourishing his cloak around Fal let the steam burst hit it with force like heavy wind. It got him to almost loose his balance as the heavy moisture and heat seeped through. He sweat but quickly it passed over him and moved to others. His cloak felt like it had been in a great storm and was heavy with fluid. Tossing is aside he took advantage of the Daemons moving attack to lash out. The flaming runes on the blade crackling under the ever increasing rainstorm.

Thunder echoed out as Celedron cast up a barrier spell concentrating it like a wedge to divert the steam around him. Luckily he wasn't the first targeted and so had a moment to set up a defense with his spell. Skreptch's viscous eyes found him and with a stiff flick of it's wrist and cry like that of a plagued wolf lightning shot from the blackened clouds and exploded on the deck by the Elf. Knocking him to the side and crackling the deck with sizzling green residue. Static traveled about as the Ark's inner stability gave way from the piercing bolt causing timber and loosely tied supports to give way. Adding to the lessening stability of their arena.
"You fool-traitor! Stop helping our foes! You keep pulling off my aim-bolts! I kill them if you not interfere!" Skreptch yelled to the other two heads. Anger flaring at them both and no fear was had for the Grey Seer where most of their other kin would cower in the presence of them.

Fal leapt at the Greater Daemon and struck at it's legs. The blades magically infused blade made physical contact but the damage was minimal. Cutting into the thick flesh was harder then slicing troll hide. More akin to hacking wood and once the blade pulled out the pestilent ooze of Skaven corrupted blood came out and healed up the injuries. It wreaked of the worse bile from the most sickening infection and Fal pulled back as he heard the Verminlord's heads arguing. Before it could swipe back he ducked through its legs. Hoping the creatures size and not full control would hinder it's more close and finesse movements. Once behind he went for the tail that was thick as a large rope.

"By Nurglitch, will somebody slice you off, free-loading-thing?" Jujue snarled in the direction of Skreptch, gnarled incisors bared in a display of annoyance to the rival Skryre-Rat. "If you hadn't opened your back-tail up high for these slave-mortals, none of this would have happened!" He continued, clenching his putrefied palm, ooze leaking from the rotten claws like lichen atop a cave mound. He scattered the pus across the ground like sputtering, and the moisture melted away at the steel like the broken enzymes of a fly's dinner. The rush of immortality was exhilerating, so much indeed that he would've been willing to absolve Skreptch's sin of his mere existence. But the Warlock's shrill mechanised tone reminded the Plaguelord of betrayal, and each word uttered from his rival stank of failure... not to mention decade old soot.
"Shut up!" Urechen cut in, the ethereal vibration of his shrill voice seemed to pierce the ozone, like a banshee in the body of a rodent. He took half second glares at the lodgers upon his body, their own faces rife with contention. "The both of you useless base-rats, shut up! If I had my arms, I'd have roasted these curs with doomfire!"

Urechen would have continued to berate his brethren, were it not for the sudden sting of pain that struck across his left knee. A phosphorescent drip leaked from the superficial wound before the exposed flesh magically reknitted. The damage was paltry, but the audacity of the Elf-thing left a bitter smear upon the grey seer's ego. Falderan was a wasp, and wasps had to be swatted like vermin before they could sting again.
"Son-of-an-Elf-bitch!" Urechen whined, looking down upon the second long wound.
"Oh good, maybe he'll go for your head and I'll get to end this farce myself." Jujue said, accompanied by a mocking chuckle.
"Quiet lesser-thing, before I rip your snout off." Snapped Urechen, still under a frustration induced reverie of anger.
"With what? I have your arm, maybe I'll take-rip you apart instead!" Laughed the late Plaguelord, raising the boil ridden arm in a conceited display. The Grey Seer had no comeback, returning Jujue's mockery with a petulant squeal. He knew that this minor sqaubble was allowing their enemy leaverage. Had he not lapsed in concentration, he could have probably left the Elf in rags a writhing mess with a gobbet of boiling sea-spit before he'd slid underneath Urechen's groin. Another caw of frustration escaped from the grey seer's open maw, and he slammed his tail down almost out of reflex. Like much of Urechen's changed form, the squirming appendage had been extraordinarily refashioned, no longer a tail as such, but rather an autonomous colony of poisonous sea urchins, their distended stingers elongated to pierce steel. Sigmar only knew the damage it could inflict upon unprotected flesh.

"Huh!" Skreptch laughed. "If you were so mighty-powerful why weren't you leading the Ark? Why were you gone-missing and traitor rats take control? Sounds like you fail-failed." Skreptch laughs with a mechanized voice that somehow led itself to being even more unnatural than the other two. He then turned to Anglermaw as the other two heads argued. He growled. "Traitor-scum." He snarls and as his clawed hand crackles with energy. The metal plates jutting out of it like a horrific shrapnel injury with plates replacing chunks of skin. Energy crackled from the sky above and the scent of soot radiated in the area. Rust and ozone increasing in scent till it burnt the nostrils. "Die!" He shouts and lightning struck his arm and was redirected to Anglermaw.

As the Verminlord struggled with its multiple personalities Celedron crawled around till he managed to pull behind it. The Ark was becoming ever more unstable. A large wave knocked and rocked the shell as it bent. Metal stretched and screamed as it was torn. The deck split open with a massive gash emerging from the lightning burnt wound. Celedron fell back and luckily caught the railing with his back. It pushed out and through frantic leg work he managed to pull himself forward before the railing broke off and fell to the depths below. Funnily enough his missing limb may have reduced his weight by enough to stop it instantly giving out. Crawling behind the Verminlord he clenched his hand. Squeezing his palm he began an incantation. The ground around the Verminlord bent and the Ark itself lost stability. If they couldn't destroy the beast Celedron would try to hold it down and let it go with the rest of the vessel.

Falderan went to strike for the tail but as the whip like tendril moved he noticed the mutated form. It more resembled sea urchins tightly packed like a thorned whip. He had seen several such whips in the position of Beastmen but never something this lethal looking. It swung about blindly and without cause. Maybe it didn't respond to him but Fal took the time to move. It came up and he blocked it as he was knocked back. He stumbled back and kept to his feet. Wincing in pain from enduring it he wondered just how strong the Verminlord was. Hearing the heads argue he saw a large bolt shoot towards Anglermaw and acted off impulse. With the blade pointed he stabbed for the back of the Daemon's knee.

Elecromagnetic resonance fissured over the metal floor, snakes of eldritch lighning manifesting from the ball of inexorable death headed toward Anglermaw's direction. He felt an immediate pang of terror while the wreathing projectile slowly became his entire world. The aggrevating tickle upon his claw-feet that vibrated on the approach told the Sea-Rat that now was very much the time to make a move, lest the little jade sun be the last horizon his eyes laid upon. But he could not stir, he was petrified by his imminent death. The skaven instinct of 'fight or flight' had penetrated his psyche, and without the means to act on either, he chose the unspoken, abhorred option: death.
The ball's juddering approach was not quick but it was absolute, and were the skaven conceived with a sounder backbone, Anglermaw would have evaded, but he wavered by the gantry, gormless and mouth agape. He prepared himself for the inevitable sensation of infernal, jolting agony, winding his eyes shut, pretending that the bolt was nothing but an illusion brought on by warpstone exposure. He knew of Sigmar only by name, so he could not offer any prayers of deliverance, but such desperate hope were unnecessary, for his angel had come to his aid in a far more mundane, and scalier form.

A cacophany of arcane born explosives tore the gantry to shreds, piercing the Sea-Rat's ears, and he was thankful that his death was at least painless. The mast of the Ark bucked violently from the aftershock, the dreadnaught's balance irrevocably cast downward, the final moments of it's death throes now without question. Anglermaw opened his eyes to greet his new afterlife, aghast to find himself immobile as he descended, or perhaps soared, toward the brackish skies of his lucid dream. He lifted his snout at his saviour, Mokte had risked himself to save Anglermaw's life, his duty to Tzlipectl overcoming his justified resent of the ratman. Anglermaw let out of a feeble yelp as the saurus unhanded him. A mountain of derelict metal loomed over the both of them, and Anglermaw quickly realised that he was not in fact flying within his watery realm, but plummeting toward the sea. He was still alive!
"Trust in the ocean!" Shouted Mokte over the hiss of their downfall. "The guardians are approaching as I speak!"
Then Mokte lurched himself to a dive, their plunge imminent.

Anglermaw ignored Mokte's advice. He had no fear of the sea, he had been tossed unconsciously into the stormy depths and had somehow escaped the jaws of certain death. His survival had made him arrogant, and perhaps foolish. The waters were freezing as Anglermaw felt the caress of the sea. He smacked upon the surface with a ripple. Pain flared across his body, and an invisible attacker seemed to have beaten the air out of his lungs. Bubbles wisped toward the surface as he tried to breathe, his lungs burning out as out he drowned. Anglermaw flailed mindlessly, desperate, but his only companions were the shoals of dead fish poisoned by the Ark's arrival, the cerulean void was a mortuary of marine animals. He tried to swim upward, but the cold had frozen his limbs, and he hovered helplessly toward an unmarked grave. It would appear that Captain Znammy 'Sunami Anglermaw' didn't have the favour of the Sea-Devil after all. He accepted his fate with begrudging despair.

Just as he had come to terms with his state of affairs, a sudden force beat him upward without warning. His snout penetrated the waves, and the inhale of oxygen was almost agonising. Salty water cascaded across his wetted clothes and out of his chittering snout. His claws lightly piercing the leathery hide of a gargantuan serpent, racing across the perimetre of the ark like a beast encircling it's prey while an unnatural wave of arrow length rain bombarded them both. He languished like a pup in it's birth throes, the seated and composed figure of Mokte beside his own while he coughed.

"My Ark!" Urechen wailed as his coveted prize capsized under the pressure of arcane substance. "You pieces of breeder scat! Look what you've done!" This was not meant to be, the Ark was the fulcrum of all his schemes. It was the key to the dominance of Skavendom, one ship with the power to rival a doomrocket, and the defences of a fortress that would make the stunted-things lift their backsides in aquiescence of their well-endowed betters. Gobbets of boiling water plumed from his bleached snout as he sounded his rage with a howl. It was deafening, bolstered by the Verminlord's demonic anatomy, enough to force even the pain-numbed Jujue to stick an ear socket shut with his free hand. A spike of pain lathered across Urechen's knee once again, and he reared his head toward his attacker.
"You inbred Elf-thing!" He hissed. "Go to Hell and die-die!" Another torrent of boiling water discharged toward Falderan like a geyser.

Supa-Kheti felt the mast teeter toward the aft from under his webbed feet, but no sensation of panic pierced his spirit. All was going accordingly, and the last utterance of prayer whispered from his mouth while he let his decrepit body flow downward.
"Itza-chaqlot has delivered us, join me, kin." He said calmly to his fellow skinks, and then slid toward the undulating ocean. A basalt toned lump of scales crested by a dorsal fin the size of a galleon's sail awaited them like a ball carriage.

The final stages of the Arks destruction came in a split second. It was as if a dozen events happened in the fraction of a blink. The bolt of energy fired by Skreptch blasted into the Ark's hull and somehow missed Anglermaw. No, not somehow. The rat was saved by the most unlikely of companions. As the Saurus tackled him away the two fell through the Ark's decaying hull. This was the final strike. The Ark lost it's internal structure and began to fall. Within support beams gave out and hideous amounts of warpfire erupted from once thought dead engines. The core erupted with flames and shock-waves sent the hull fracturing as gashes erupted across the hull. The cacophony of noise was a melstrum of madness. The screams of anguish from the Verminlord, the screeching of metal from the vessel and the fierce roar of the sea and something more alive filled the air.

"No! You should have let me-me do it!" Skreptch says in fury as Urechen screams at them. Skreptch gives in to the pure fury as his flayed ears bleed from Urechen's screech. A look of pure fury in his hate filled eyes turns to that of a feral beast. As Urechen erupts a geyser of water at Falderan Skreptch claws at the Greyseer's eyes. Driving his claw up with a wince to stab into his rivals eye as he snaps at his head. The strike sending pain to the three of them and causing enough of a disruption to save the Elf below.

Fal narrowly pulled back as steam followed him. His blade bit deep into the Verminlord's leg and thick blood poured out like oil. The blade remained within the Daemon's leg as Fal leapt away. Narrowly avoiding the blast of steam. He was ready to accept his fate as it followed before the Daemon began clawing at itself. Fal heard the voices fighting and took his chance to escape. He looked back to see Celedron casting a spell. The ground around them collapsed and the Ark fell into itself. Looking back Fal saw the small Skink forms leap into a newly formed hole towards the ocean below. Back to the Verminlord he saw shackles of light erupt from the metal around them like tethers of holy energy to bind around the Verminlord. He made a sprint towards Celedron as the area collapsed.

Seeing the Verminlord strike and feeling the ground beneath them collapse Celedron went for his final act. He channeled the wind of Hysh and using his desire to see the Daemon vanquished his will formed shackles to grab it. His eyes glowing a bright white as from the metal and sky above ropes of light grab the Verminlord. Wrapping around it's ankles, wrists, torso, tail and necks. Seeming to emerge from the very air and move to bind the Daemon to the physical ark a vibrant net of crossed chains of light held it. Celedron felt the flashes of the Realm of Chaos return to him as he felt his soul being dragged back and seduced to the Daemons of the Dark Prince. He submitted to his face as he focused the spell but as a translucent figure came to caress his face with spiked tendrils he felt himself move. Be jolted back and as his vision returned to the physical plain he saw Falderan scooping him over his shoulder. He was gobsmacked and looking back at the screaming Verminlord looked to the fellow Elf.
"Sorry about your sword, hold your breath." Fal says he goes off instinct and leaps off the side of the Ark with Celedron in tow.
"What are you doing!" Celedron cries as his voice cracks as they fling over. Falderan paused for a moment as he shook his eyes open when they didn't hit water. They thumped onto something wet but firm and looking down see the form of a massive serpent.

Skreptch was lost to fury as he tried to kill Urechen's head beside him. Not noticing the world around them till the ethereal chains embraced them. Binding them and pulling his wrist from Urechen's socket. His neck chocked and a sizzling burning felt where the bindings touched. He roared in pain, fear and fury. Despite their new immortal form could they really die? Would they truly be forsaken by the Horned Rat? he stumbled and wondered this as the Ark gave way around them. Falling to the bottom of the sea as large serpents emerged below. Long forms that brought to mind horror stories of the Rise of Sotek and the great fall of Pestelens centuries ago in Lustria.

As everything fell apart and their Priest spoke Qua-zital and Chi-noee obeyed without question as their Saurus brethren leapt and saved the Skaven. Leaping with Supa-Kheti the trio fell down but only to be caught by a massive serpentine form. The Skinks froze and looked to one another. They thought of this as a form of the divine Sotek or something related to their most recent and mighty of deities. Above they heard the screeching of the Verminlord and around them saw the crackling of the Ark as it sank in a sea of noise.

Urechen wretched a bloody gurgle in his reverie of fury, rivulets of acrid scented blood frothing from his wound, his face rendered a phosphorescent mask while the hated lesser creature that called itself Skreptch gouged deep into his snout. The metal limb bore deep into Urechen's eye socket, both rodent wraiths entwined in an ignorant dance while the danger upon the open sea loomed forth in the shape of serpentine titans. Angels of the deep in service to the primordial gods of the Lizardmen, come to exact a dear toll. Even amidst the sharp, crunching pain that enveloped the phantom nerves across his face, the grey seer maintained his incorrigible, almost petulant sense of authority in the face of certain danger, Celedron's translucent latticework bounding the body of the Verminlord immobile, like a captive insect wrangling in desperate throes within the sticky lair of an approaching spider. Blinding strobes of blue-tinted azyr burned their shape into the retina of Urechen's free eye while Skreptch's metal claw grounded the juices of his other like a squished grape.
The physical damage was superficial and would heal the moment Skreptch overcame his tantrum, but the grey seer's ascended consciousness had given Urechen a grim awareness to their predicament. Where he would've perhaps enjoyed only a crippling sense of panic in his mortal life, Urechen's bulging vessels coursed with mortification. At the very moment he felt the loremaster's phantom lace constrict his calves, it had only just dawned upon him how their indecision, their infighting, had doomed what should have been a few minutes distraction to a colossal failure.

"You slurry-ploughing Skryre bastard, you've condemned us all!" Urechen whined over the din of roaring thunder, his free eye widening as the monsters of the deep rode the waves. "How did those no front-tail warlocks in Skavenblight not drown you at birth?"

Of the three souls bound to drown upon the shared body, it seemed only Jujue, plaguelord of Clan Pestilens bore a shred of clarity to the danger. Without a shred of his old cowardly skaven whims, he watched as the sea serpents loped forward, avatars of Stromfels himself bashing upon the hull, braying the mangled broadside of the sinking Ark. With the defenders of Tzlipectl now uncomprimised, the creatures were content to batter the sinking ship into a scrap heap and watch it's denizens sink toward the bottom of the ocean. Jujue delayed the inevitable as long as he could, while the rival rats fought themselves, he was of one mind to fend the creatures off. He raised his rotten limb acutely toward the beasts, sputtering colonies of familiars exuded from hole ridden crevasses carved upon his arm like layers of Wissenland cheese. The serpents swerved over the mast like individual tendrils of a kraken. As they swelled their bodies against the mangled Ark, a jade tinted beam shot like an arrow before evaporating into a fog rife with slavering locusts.
The little creatures tore into the underbellies of three serpents swaying overhead, their organs liquified into a mass of turbid matter, diluting within the undulating mass of the ocean. In their last moments, they roared in agony, their putrifying matter crashing toward the sea. As terrible the power of the Verminlord was, the creatures would not relent for anything; the onslaught hydra-like, for their singular will was guided by a god far stronger than any Rat idol.
The headsman came in the form of a living mountain. A juggernaught rose from a broad geyser upon the sea, the sheer width of the creature dwarfed the sinuous serpentine shapes of it's brethren. Against this executioner, it's gnarled, rocky scales the complexion of the earth, Jujue felt his ethereal heart sank in concession. The dead plaguelord hung his head forlornly, and closed his milky eyes to await the inxorable end.

Urechen was far too engrossed in his tantrum to notice the blackening of the sky, he'd not seen the fleshy cavern envelop the Ark until it was too late.

The impact sent a plume of mist high toward the cloud, so great was the reach that it seemed to crest the blackened firmament. A sudden vortex swirled from the point of danger, the riders upon great Itza-chaqlot and it's brethren almost flung to the open sea by the turbulence, though an artificial gravity that not even Supa-kheti could name kept them from being cast into the sea. Anglermaw barely clung on the massive creature's membranous sail, his claws dug deep for purchase, though the massive beast gave no clue to it's discomfort. Mokte seemed unperturbed by the watery swell that cast over them, or perhaps his golden helm concealed any constitution of panic. That noted, neither Supa-Kheti or his skink brethren seemed far removed from their reverie. The Sea-Rat barely pondered upon how as he sat back down, the answer was simple after all.
The Ark was finally gone, it's evil banished from the world, and it's maker deep within the stomach of some sea monster. Their quest was finally completed, though Anglermaw didn't know whether to feel pride of trepidation at this revelation. Was he needed now? Was his existence merely a momentary necessity until the Ark's destruction? The Lizard-things could kill him right now if they deigned it. Mokte loomed next to him, sat impassively upon the scales of the sea beast. Anglermaw had seen how the saurus had killed and wrestled with elite stormvermin like they were little more than corrugated dummies, he didn't need much leverage to simply reach over to the Sea-Rat and snap his neck.

So why, in the Sigmar-Rat's name, wasn't he doing that right now?

"You saved my life." Blurted Anglermaw, the words a mumble from his snout. He felt like a fool for mentioning it, and kicked himself for his action, he'd now drawn attention to himself.
But Mokte nodded in calm recognition. "You owe me nothing, Sunami." Mokte said, woven in the most placating voice Anglermaw had yet heard from the saurus. "Your actions, our actions have destroyed the Ark. They have saved thousands of lives, they have saved Tzlipectl, and outsiders though we may be in our own ways, Nahwa will hold us all in honour of our deeds. Fear nothing from me, Sunami, I am glad to have been wrong about you."
Anglermaw couldn't help but crack a smile. "Well, I'm glad, I-I suppose..." He couldn't find the words to finish his sentence, so he let the words hang from the brackish air.
How could he find the words? His stomach knotted at the very thought of being considered a hero, least of all the Lizard-things that regarded him as a pest to be purged. Him, a rag-tag clanrat with a two-bit brigand's luck, to claw-admiral of Clan Skurvy's largest fleet... to a defender of some greater good he barely knew the name of. He'd hardly considered any notion of altruism, for what skaven ever committed themself to act that was not bound by a ulterior motive. But Mokte's words were like balm to his spirit, perhaps this was simply the turning point of a new life. Anglermaw lisped a soundless, chittering prayer to his newest patron, the almight Sigmar-Rat, that his only friend Hans hadn't died for nothing and that his soul was finally at peace.

But deep in his mind, he knew from just how forgone Mister Brunswick had become, that he was going to a very dark afterlife. He tore the thought from his mind, and watched as the arcane woven clouds dissipated for the starry night above.

"We must rendevous with our Elf-spawn friends." Announced Supa-kheti, sat toward the front of Itza-chaqlot's headcrest alongside Chi-Noee and Qua-zital. The basalt serpent loped to find the steed of Falderan and Celedron, swimming parallel beside the creature across the Lustrian coast, two aquatic behemoths joined in a victory parade.
Half an hour had passed since the Ark's destruction. It was like a fever dream, all that distant bloodshed fading away like foam upon the sea.
"All of you," Intoned the elderly Skink, raising himself steadily from the headcrest. "Do not think that your service to Lord Nahwa shall be in vain. Gifts and honours of ancient champions await..."

Supa-kheti did not finish his sentence. He clutched meekly at his chest, his heart thumping thunderously like a parasite ready to burst from his ribcage. The skink's heaving breaths wheezed in short gasps before he collapsed upon the scaled surface of Itza-chaqlot.

"You set of little-insignificant breeder fondlers..." An echo permeated like condensation within Anglermaw's mind. It came from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously, and he panickingly noted from the disturbed reactions of his company that he was not the only one hearing a bygone remnant of Urechen's silibant voice. Mokte thrust off his helm in a moment of savagery, revealing his snarling countenance. No doubt the Elves had heard it all the more.
"I know you can all hear me, Anglermaw, and you pair of pointy ear catamites. You are right to side with the Lizard-things, for like them you all lack any front-tail!" Urechen's disembodied voice fluttered like the wings of a wasp drone inside of Anglermaw's subconsience.
"You have all made an enemy out of me and given me a clear reason to wade through the scathole of a world once again, so know these portents, as the Horned One's prophet you would do best to listen carefully! Despair, the lot of you, as your cities are burned to ash under the vermintide, everything you know and love devoured like cattle ready for the abbatoire. Your friends, your families, your realms. Everyone and everything you hold dear is soon going to die very painfully. The Horned One shall reign supreme over the pantheon of your non-existant Gods, and upon this cesspit I shall sit high on a throne of cadaveres, your kings postrate before me emasculated and bleeding, their front tails adorned across my belt!"

Urechen bellowed a roar of laughter, and coincidentially, a resounding fusillade of sparks billowed from the Ark's downpour. The sky became jade for a second and then the sensation was gone.

"And when I finally see the four of you again, I'm going to shove you all so far up a chimaerat's back-arse that when you're blasted back out, your corpses will be conjoined!"