Kabal of the Whipcrown

Curious, Khaharkyth mused as he wrenched his sword from the burning corpse of a daemon. He hadn't felt this exhilarated, this invigorated, this alive in centuries. Not since his early days in the arena. "I think it's the element of risk," the tinny voice of Wilson added from his hindbrain. "When was the last time death had a semblance of permanence to it?". Khaharkyth paused for a second, nodding sagely. The insight was well made.

 

"Welcome to Commorragh!" he bellowed jovially, turning to face the yawning chasm above, "I know a very nice opiate den just around the corner. If you can make it there before I hack your legs off you can have one of my playthings."

 

Dysjunctions are fun, he thought as Commorragh burned around him. We should have these more often.

Done