It called to him. The insistent tug intensified after emerging from the gnaw-hole into a land with a green sky, with plants and creatures bursting to life all around him. The draw of it set his whiskers twitching and crawled under his skin, and its scent carried on every whisper of wind. It made him want to rake his own eyes out.
His scouts already ranged through the trees. They scratched against the bark and rustled through giant leaves. The body at his feet deflated with its final breath; a scout bearing the wrong sort of news.
Squeaking his irritation under his breath and grasping his halberd’s warped shaft, Scar Treeflayer sniffed the air. Smoke. Fire and magic and man-things. He needed secrecy and stealth to find whatever drew them here so strongly and the fires were waking the tree-beasts. He called his bodyguards closer, hulking, angry ratkin, and signalled them take their place in ambush.
The Jungle of Blood
Gareth’s skaven warband hails from the sprue-grey mountain that forms his painting backlog. Some say that at least two Island of Blood sets lie within the mountain. With long-term affection for the ratties, he decided this campaign the perfect time to let them swarm from their tunnels and stab-kill any man-things they found.
Little has been seen of the clanrats although this rare glimpse of Scar Treeflayer himself has been found.
Some may recognise this little ratty as the 2011 Games Day event miniature. I’m not sure what that orb is, or why it’s sparking green energy, but it looks like bad news for the Grudgebringers and Sylvaneth.
There is an expectation in the jungle, the creatures quieten in anticipation. Something terrible is about to happen, something that will change the region forever. As the flames rise, and the call to awaken is heard through root and leaf and creeper, the Skaven make ready their ambush. War beckons. Survival, riches or glory, the stakes. Soon, first contact shall be made.