“The Gathering Storm” 

Rain. It had been coming down for days. Not the dribble, or the spitting, or even the pissing kind of rain. No, it was torrential and it hurt the skin, penetrated right through cloth and armor alike to sting and bite at any exposed portion of flesh. It was the angry rain that first brought the four fathers together. First Asashi Sunfire, followed closely by the one called Fayt. Orzhov was next, heavily tattooed and colored with the same purple and black hues that were to become the four father’s adopted colors. The last to arrive was the goblin, Mograth Pixieslayer, his hulking humanoid form filling the mouth of the shallow cave that offered the only respite from nature’s fury outside. 
As each new individual arrived, the previous squatters took up arms. These were dangerous times and no one, no matter how drenched and innocent looking, could be trusted. Thoroughly interrogated, each one was allowed to stay on the premise that if any one of them were to try “funny business” the others would make sure the rain was the least of their worries! For hours they sat in silence, simply watching one another, eyes moving from one individual to the next with muscles at the ready for any conflict. It was Fayt who spoke first, “I am Fayt of Dugwaur. I will not take up arms against any of you if it is your intention to leave all ill-will at the mouth of this alcove.” Silence for a moment, then a laugh, a booming laugh, from the direction of the one called Asashi. “Ill-will? My friend you have taken company with the very likes of ill-will’s master! I am Asashi Sunfire and I come from lands unknown to you, but it is my promise that those lands have given me power never before observed by your eyes nor the eyes of others in this cave!” “Shut your mouth, braggart.” The hissing voice from the darkest corner of the cave was that of Orzhov. The sound of dagger blade on sharpening stone could be heard in conjunction with his heavy breathing. He leaned forward enough to make out the purple and black coloring on his face and garment. “I dare you to show your powers in here…if you think your powers are faster than my dagger that is.” Nervous tension suddenly swelled in the cavern. After what seemed like eons, the silence was broken by a very wet sneeze. Three heads turned towards the source, and a still very wet goblin flashed a toothy grin followed by an exaggerated bow. “My Mograth Pixieslayer name. No harm to pinkies I mean.” With that awkward attempt at English, the three humans laughed in unison… 

Who knows what brings strangers into curious partnerships. Perhaps it is nature’s fury. Perhaps it is those who boast countered by those who disbelieve. Perhaps it is by jesterly bows and muddled attempts at speech. Whatever the cause, a brotherhood was formed the night the four sheltered under the protection of the cave. Over roaring fire provided by flint and Fayt’s spear tip stories were exchanged and common goals were formed. The four fathers, as they would later be called by the followers, gave a life oath to one another that as individuals they would continue to have little, but as a clan they would have countless fortune. They did not swear allegiance to the Crusade. They did not swear allegiance to Megamarth’s evil march. They only swore allegiance to each other. Both sides could be exploited for treasure, and the Imperial Guard would surly see to it that both sides were exploited time and time again…   

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