Zygrad's Slavers

Zygrad picked at a morsel of food stuck in between his teeth as he rode on the tailgate of a wagon. His one good eye looked dispassionately over the column of troops that marched in its wake.

He hated the north, hated it with a passion since the last time the Lord of the Iron Tower sent him into these blighted wastes on another fool's errand. At least this time he did not need to coddle some bastard whelp, fresh from his mothers teat while he tried to claim some notability in the courts.

With a grunt, Zygrad spat out the morsel of food.

The flesh smiths had learnt of some rock that had fallen from the sky, and scouts in the region had noted oddities in the local wildlife. As such mutagenic properties were highly prized, the Lord of the Iron Tower had set a bounty for any that returned with enough of note, and so, Zygrad's Slavers marched from the warm comfort of home, along the under ways and back into the blighted wastes of some forgotten part of the world.

At least, Zygrad thought to himself, if the rock was a bust, at least he could turn a profit on some new slaves.