Contractually Obligated

[GSM]

The seizure of one would befit a price of many.
The legion of darkness was initially unaware of the assault, but the response was that of liquid darkness, and a horrifically fast one; darkness crawled against their assailants, ripping apart lesser men and shielding the flames with emissaries of the End of All. Skeletal warriors of both ages long past and freshly-arisen dead started to fill the battlefield, unfettered by Time's clutches. Demons and undead worked in seamless harmony, the lessers being pillaged and slain for good, only to reform moments later. Many sons of man were kidnapped, many more slain upon the entering of Skarnfel's territory.

The cacophony of corvids and vultures could be heard for miles, the bodies of those felled now staining the earth forevermore, adding more and more to the inherently negative energy of the Shadowlands, fueling the flame that was the ever-growing force of change and entropy.

The tactics of the Golden Horde were not unknown to those in the fel legion.

Thus, little would be given in terms of morale. For these legions knew not fear, and they would not relent. Not under the command of the new Diarchy of Skarnfel.
Not under Xarxes, Lord of Time. Not under Na'Ria, Demon of Knowledge.

A thousand voices whispered together in perfect harmony, carried through the air with the great Grey and rattling into the minds of their opponents with a terrible drone.

Na'Ria had some... choice words. The Owldrake's statement would come first, through the tongues of many stolen voices.

"You would challenge Skarnfel for a single soul?

You would charge so recklessly into battle, daring to abandon your lives and your legacies, for... this?

We have aspects to pursue, we have changes to ascertain.

You would slake your blood with ours, to point your bows and spears at us, those of you who once marched alongside us?

Come, my demonic kindred.

We must put these pretenders in their place."

Another voice would carry itself through Time, a statement that seemed to have already been said; the stench of Death lingered within the air.

Xarxes made his own stance clear, one and the same with the Archon's.

"Did they say a mere hundred thousand? Tell the Undead to crawl out of their coffins, if these broke people think that they're going to be making a fuss about such a small amount of coins we're going to shatter them into a thousand tiny pieces. They think they can come where the Pantheon has forsaken?

It's about the proper moment we dusted off some of our assets and set them loose. Let's show them what wealth and power truly look like."

Would the price of a single soul be enough to ascertain the safety of those who marched upon Skarnfel?
Would it be enough to protect and nurture many lives?
Just what was the true price of the one they aimed to seize?

...

Meranthe was due to find out, and very soon.