Seraphon on the Slidecrown Isle

The Unsettling Dreams of an Undead Slann

Deep in the bowels of his void-ship, the spirit of Lord Kroak slept. Or meditated. Or perhaps even ceased to exist on this plane, depending on which of his Starpriest attendants you asked. In any case, his consciousness was cast far from the mummified remains of his sundered body. It was instead in a liminal space between worlds, as he cast his mind towards understanding the next step needed to further the Great Plan.

He found himself on an unknown plane, with shifting terrain that seemed muddy jungle one moment, dense forest the next, and arid ruins a moment later. He sat upon his floating throne on one edge of this plane.  As he cast his vision across the fields before him, he saw renowned warriors from other races assembled around him: a tiny, brutish warmblood with a beard and several axes, one of the steam powered mechanized monsters of the Sigmarites, an enormous rodent-like Verminlord, an Old Blood he didn't recognize sat atop a carnosaur, an undead fiend of some sort, and others he couldn't quite glimpse.

He could feel greed and antagonism rolling off the warriors surrounding him, and knew a battle was coming. Without warning, the undead thing summoned more of it's kind, ghastly ghouls slavering for living flesh, and they as one turned their attention on a warrior he hadn't noticed before. It had fallen before he could identify it. In response to the nearby threat, he summoned his power and sent his magic forth to sunder the earth beneath the horde, but his magic didn't seem to answer him in this realm.

The mechanized vessel launched a salvo of artillery fire, destroying some of the ghouls. The diminutive bearded berserker lept forward and issued a challenge that none seemed to answer. As more of the warriors around him began to clash and battle one another, Kroak tried again and again to summon his magic. He was the oldest and most powerful spellcaster in all the realms, he should be able to make short work of the assembled foes.  But still, his magic refused to answer his commands.

Without warning, the monstrous Verminlord appeared before him, just beyond the reach of his Azyrite Barrier. The thing slashed at him with blades at the end of it's prehensile tails, rending tears throughout his desiccated flesh. He tried to react, but before he could, the rodent assassin whipped a Doomstar at his face, cleaving his golden Death Mask and slicing the remains of his head in two. 

As before, when he called upon his magic to repair the damage to his withered form, it failed to respond. He felt himself fading into dust and the vision before him faded. It was replaced by a new vision: one of an antlered crown that he a had dim memory of belonging to a long-dead Elven king. Or maybe it was a Sylvaneth. His vague memories from the old world sometimes overlapped this new one and he found it hard to tell the difference between some of the short lived warmblood races. What he did remember for certain was that this Viridian King fought a mighty war against Nurgle and his demon forces on an island on Ghyran.

He had forgotten all of this, and with it, he had forgotten that the crown melded with the energies of a mighty spell that sundered the local ley lines, creating a powerful relic that now rested in a reservoir of Aqua Ghyranis. Such a relic would be coveted by all, were other outsiders to learn of its existence, and could disrupt the Great Plan yet again. His vast mind made the connection between the two visions: yet another war was coming. Soon, countless factions would try to make their way to this isle and claim its riches and power for themselves. If he allowed that to happen, it would put both his existence and the Great Plan in danger.

With a dry and dusty croak, the mighty Slann heaved his consciousness back into what was left of his corporeal form aboard Itza-huitlan, summoning his nearby attendant. K'asku Naj scuttled over to the mighty Starmaster.

"What is it, my lord?" the skink chittered as they prostrated themself before the mummified wizard.

Kroak wheezed and croaked at the tiny Starpriest, who craned their neck to turn wide eyes upon their master. When Kroak finished speaking, K'asku Naj raced out of his chambers, to relay the Slann's command: the Seraphon were going to war.