Feigned Cowardice

They were noisy, they were violent, and they were unwanted. The WAAAGH! had to be dealt with, carefully. Crackedmorrow knew plenty about the Orruk mindset, always looking for the next scrap, not caring if they earned victory or defeat. The Shade Lord came up with a plan, he sent his shadowy messengers to the Orruk camp to hash out a deal.

The shadow daemons entered the tent unseen, the warboss was asleep, snoring loudly. The scrape of claws on metal awoke the brute with a jolt, he grabbed his choppa and began swinging it wildly, it was easy enough to dodge for the Shadenettes. As the warboss came to his senses, the messengers revealed themselves, they whispered of epic battles to be fought in another location, one to the west where Sylvaneth hid. The messengers told of how weak and unworthy of fighting Crackemorrow was, how the army was starved so much that many had been reduced to but shadows, how some had to use weakling magic to even survive a punch - much less a great Orruk’s choppa. A substantial gift was left with the warboss and the envoys left unseen as quickly as they had arrived.

Crackedmorrow hoped his scheme would work, the grove of River-Laurel would need to be weakened if his grand plans were to continue in the Ghyranian continent. With Orruks at their doorstep, the Sylvaneth would be forced to battle or more than likely retreat to their hidden paths, leaving the forces of Chaos unassailed.