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Events of the 9th of Slate, 1091
Xotes stepped into the Tower, making her way down the stairs. She passed Nagash, crawling for the bottom, and stomped him into oblivion. This was not the dwarf she was interested in.
Some way ahead, towards the downward staircase, sat Ironblood, waiting.
"Well, well, Olon." she said, approaching him. "It seems that victory goes to me."
"How do you figure?" he said, gruffly.
Xotes gestured around, incredulous. "You've failed! Your only comrade here is dead. Your soldiers die slowly out in the battlefield, and you... you can't fight! You can't even stand!"
Ironblood gave her a half-mad grin. "That's all?"
Xotes looked at him furiously. What would it take for him to acknowledge her victory!?
"No, that's not all. In a moment this tower will become a conduit for divine power, allowing my master to escape his eternal prison."
"Sounds impressive." Ironblood replied, dryly.
Xotes sneered at him. "Oh it will be. In a way you're lucky, you know. You've got front row seats to the reshaping of the world."
Ironblood slowly inched towards the staircase. "Yes, I feel lucky."
xotes threw a warning bolt at him, searing the floor near his hand. "You're not going anywhere."
Ironblood sat, and glowered at her.
Xotes stood, waiting, and finally the feeling of divine power began to wash down.
"Ah, there it is." she said, spinning around to bask in its essence. "Do you feel it? No... of course you don't..."
She froze. Ironblood was standing up again, fully healed and... different. Divine power was flooding into him!
He looked at her levelly. "I would say, Xotes, that you have may be wrong."
