Snippet #2767501

Zambob struck an impressive figure. He was old for the Rock, whose people tended to have short lives. His red beard was long but trimmed and braided, his head shaved clean. The long lines in his face broke outwards from his eyes like ravines carved by water in the desert. The robes he wore shimmered dark hues of blue and gray, and not even the ever-present covering of dust diluted its colors.

"Behold, my people," Zambob said, throwing his arms wide as they viewed the massive artillery cannon. "Our fallen star has shed its glory, as I predicted. The wrath of the earth and the cleansing waters will soon be upon us..."

The large army behind him called out in unison, a wordless shout of affirmation, and Zambob nodded slowly. Spurring his ant forward, Zambob began to descend the dune towards the waiting group of Knights and Girthfield.

"Lo, figures of the heavens, brushed by death and painted in steel, form to greet the mad prophet," Zambob said heavily, stopping his ant in front of the group of soldiers and sliding down to the ground. "Council you ask? What need have we of council? You think to pursue a treaty? There is no war here. Only truth and its ever-growing spread over the Rock and its people."

***

Tackel frowned at both comments but said nothing.