“It’s a small town, really. It shouldn’t be too difficult to .subjugate to the will of the mighty Pit Bosses,” Sallow said softly to the Ochre Lord, a slight grin on his face, “They have a fully-functioning munitions plant. There’s only one slight problem, Milord…”
The Ochre Lord sighed in exasperation.
“Go on,” it said in its cacophonous, maddening voice.
“There will be some resistance, Milord. The populace are largely devotees of the New Sun.”
The Ochre Lord smiled.
“I do believe my latest collection of oddments contains one of such disposition. Perhaps it can be positioned as an alliance, then.”
“And if these Salters do not take with the priest’s exhortations?” Sallow simpered, wringing his hands.
“Why, then we turn it over to the ork and his progeny. All they seem to care about is killing. Give him a troop of Red Guards to command, and then let the streets run red with blood. I care not, as long as that munitions plant is ours.”
The imp smiled as his Master plotted ruin.