Last Tales of the Broken

The Broken Interlude Four

Meanwhile, in a Hive in Tacoma...

The boiling hot green glow of the Hive was just bright enough to illuminate the fierce, hideous and malformed jaws of all the assembled Black Spiral Dancers.

“Tonight we strike their Caern!”

Most were Metis, and as such, most looked like an assemblage of mutated freaks. Behind them stood the kinfolk, most of which were brainwashed or insane from the things they’d witnessed in the Hive.

“We prove that no new Tribe, however loyal they claim to be to the Wyrm, are no match for the Wyrm’s loyal claws! We dance the spiral!”

Several heads nodded, and some screamed in agreement. A Gaian tribe had, or at least part of its number, had switched to serving the Wyrm. And these traitors had proven themselves to the Maeljin. They had secretive success after success- as Whippoorwill was fond to remind them.

They were failing the Wyrm, and tonight, tonight they would strike back at the idiot Gaians and prove themselves.

Sarah Maneater screamed at the top of her lungs, a roar that each BSD and kinfolk echoed.

TONIGHT! We will ruin, corrupt, fuck their totem! We will rape and kill their Elders! Their families! We will take those who survive to the spiral! AND We will do it for the Wyrm!

“The Howling Storm is Ours!”

Thirty malformed Black Spiral Dancers chanted:
“For the Wyrm! For the Wyrm! For the Wyrm!”


damniampretty damniampretty

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