The Bane thrall broke into rough rasping, the way Bane thralls and knights laugh. An elbow in the gut silenced him. "We come from the Blightplains. It is seperated from the other nations by the tundra." Scarlock raised a boned finger, carefully concealed by a black velvet glove. "We do not need to know the future, we have expected nothing, but anticipated everything."<br/><br/>He splayed his fingers, meant to indicate all those present at the table, "The Cryx are only nibbling at their food source. Aye, the only way to defeat us is to die. Then we shall starve, and die too. But, Cryx shall be the last standing. You may strike us down, but surely, you won't take us out."<br/><br/>******<br/><br/>Asphixious glanced at his men. Starve and die out? Not likely. More like death of boredom. He released the spell, regaining his focus on the present. He had snuck to a nearby structure, listening to Scarlock's meaningless banter.