It was called Nom Shabboth and the sight of it was doom. Once, in a previous life, it was an avatar of the Sea Gods. A mighty turtle, guardian of a lost and sunken city, its shell fully one hundred yards across. Now it was a monstrosity. Murdered and raised from the dead by the darkest of magics Nom Shabboth was a shambling, rotting citadel.
Rising from the centre of the vast rotting shell was a black temple dedicated to a fell God whose very name meant madness and pain. The Dark Cardinal had consecrated this place with the blood of innocents, marking the walls and spires and turrets with runes that squirmed, trying to break free. This was Nom Shabboths engine room, blood and souls extracted and refined to keep the undead behemoth lumbering forward.
At the front of the shell was the Bridge. In it resided the Helmsman. It was he who had raised the turtle to its current state. Now he guided it towards its next destination, the holy city of Urr gleaming purest white a few dozen miles ahead. The Helmsman closed his eyes savouring memories of previous victories. When he looked up again he could see the pitiful army the city had assembled. Fresh meat, he thought, it always tastes sweeter.
As the cavalry and infantry lined up outside Urr's pristine marble walls the devils that lived on Nom Shabboths shell began their own preparations. The dour duegeur Machinist cranked the mighty forward trebuchets into firing position, filling them with baleful fire and rotting corpses. Thankfully the animated dead could find their own way into the bucket. Beside him the sickly Warlock summoned a great wind to blow towards the city, carrying the foul miasma of rotting turtle and sacrificed blood over the defenders. Behind the Warlock and the Machinist the Dark Cardinal and his minions were herding slaves into the temple, readying unclean magicks.
*
As Nom Shabboth slithered forward, carving a rank furrow in the land with its shell, the Helmsman watched the last of the defenders taken down by the skeleton airborne troops. The Warlock's wind had died down and the smell of the city came in gently on the breeze. It smelled sweet. It smelled like fear.
Joshua - has delusions of grandeur