When the Carver invaded Zadok's mind there was a moment of instinctual defence, as he reflexively tried to force the being out. However, once that moment passed he dropped his defences, as he knew that the Carver would need to know what information he had. The experience was unpleasant, but he managed to deal with it without any fuss. After a period of time Zadok could not measure, the Carver ceased its probing and shared some of its own memories. Nostalgia touched Zadok when he received the memory of Sophist. Once the Carver had finished sharing, however, there was no time for nostalgia. The situation was graver than he had thought. The Ripper could do much more than consume this universe if the core was breached.

Then the Carver suddenly wrapped himself around Zadok and carried him into the Source. This came as a surprise initially. While the Weaver was rarely polite enough to ask permission, Zadok had never travelled inside the Weaver. This experience was new to him, but he suspected that this position put him at the Carver's mercy as well as under its protection. Inside the Source he was surrounded on all sides by billowing red gases, increasing in energy as they descended, until the energy became so intense that it was comparable to the plasma of a star. Even shielded by the Carver Zadok could feel the magic saturating his body.

Eventually they reached the core of the Source, and came face to face, so to speak, with the Ripper. This being of destruction spoke differently to how he remembered the Weaver- the voice was fragmented into many different voices with differing views. The Ripper noticed him immediately, and spoke. The insults hurled at Zadok did not phase him, for many Keepers had cursed him before, but one voice caught his attention. It was almost drowned out by the flurry of other voices, but the voice of the Weaver as Zadok had known it struck a chord with him.

Then the Ripper struck out at him and the Carver. The red tendril of destruction stretched over the green energies that made up the Carver, but before they could tighten Zadok released a mighty flash of holy light, ridding himself of the magical energy which was saturating his body, which dissolved the Ripper's tendril. But it was merely a tendril, and the Ripper remained. Zadok then decided to speak to the malevolent ball of red energy.

Weaver, why must you destroy everything? This world is a chance to start anew. Can you not see that there is no point in this? Zadok pleaded, trying to appeal to what good might be left in the Ripper.

A silent man, garbed in robes of midnight black, stood atop Paterdomus' grand walls. The stranger's hood was drawn up, hiding the sinister thing that hid within. Perhaps the stranger could have passed for a woman in mourning, for the billowing robes revealed nothing of whatever form that was concealed within their folds. Still, a mourning woman would not have been allowed to defile the sanctity of the Holy City's walls by walking atop them; that was a job only for sworn knights, righteous crusaders, and ordained priests. Still, the stranger walked unchallenged, as the men on the walls were lost in the scene unfolding just outside the city.

Row after row of Paterdomus' soldiers and sorcerers had amassed outside to guard the city from the Infernal King's scion, and they had broken like so many clumps of dirt flung at a wall. The huge, fiery beast billowed out smoke and ash, and before long those shrouded the entire battlefield. In the ensuing chaos, there was a rout, with dozens of men running back for the walls. Normally they would be condemned for their cowardice and left to die, but not this time. The stranger saw the men in the gatehouse, a good hundred feet above the ground, slowly operate a winch to raise the iron portcullis before opening the heavy oaken gates.

The stranger, however, continued to peer down at what was happening below. He knew tales of lesser ritualists working the art of golemancy, creating magical automatons from inanimate objects and either their own willpower or the souls of the dead. He suspected that this hellish leviathan wreaking havoc for no purpose and against impossible odds was stray and without a master, content with merely destroying things for lack of any other instruction. However, from the whispering from the bleating, cowardly men standing atop the wall besides the robed figure, it was possible that a so-called 'Infernal King', scourge of this city, still commanded the monster. The stranger had to wonder whether this creature, and the Infernal King, if he was still alive, would be hostile or a potential ally.

The stranger's musings were cut short by a monstrous roar from within the smoke, accompanied by a tremendous thud. The smoke gradually cleared to reveal the creature lying upon the ground. A raucous cheering quickly erupted, rather than panic, as a priest garbed in crimson saw the sun's sudden change and declared, "The Fire God has saved us! Praise Caldor!"

As in for the creature below, it didn't appear dead. It was likely either crippled, dying, or collapsed from exhaustion. In any case, it would not be long before the cowardly humans worked up the courage to execute the now helpless thing. The cloaked figure let his hood fall and tore off his robe, revealing what was underneath- nothing. A shadow. A nearby soldier, just now noticing him, let out a cry in alarm. However, the Shadow had already gone, and as the robes fell to the ground they too vanished into nothing, having been made of woven shadows themselves.

Shaige quickly reappeared down on the battlefield, amidst burned corpses, dying men, and the occasional straggler who walked around aimlessly, made lightheaded and disorientated by the ash. The Keeper walked towards Ifrit, and with a gesticulation manipulated the dispersing smoke. The fumes immediately ceased thinning out, and were pulled back to the center of the battlefield, concealing the fallen monster and revealing all the carnage and charred land. Safe for a little longer within a cloud of impenetrable smoke, he had time to devise a way to rescue Ifrit. Perhaps it was stray, and would prove a loyal minion, but if not it still would not help to have a friend in this 'Infernal King'.

As Shaige had a closer examination of the infernal, skeletal hound or massive proportions, he quickly realized that he had not even the slightest indication of what was wrong. The Keeper's spell was weakening; soon the smoke would disperse once again, for good. Shaige would be able to escape easily enough, by simply drifting away or moving into the spirit realm. However, drifting away with Ifrit in tow would be impossible, and dragging the monster into the spirit realm would require a tremendous amount of power, power that Shaige simply lacked so far from his Heart and after all his recent exertions.

There was, however, a huge abundance of one particular resource in the immediate area- souls. The helpless ghosts of the hundreds of men that had been burned, suffocated, or crushed would be more than enough to create a huge hole to the spirit realm right where Ifrit had collapsed, at least for a moment or two. So the robed figure that was Shaige manipulated the darkness beneath the smoke to form a staff, and then raised the black rod into the air. The ominous wailing of hundreds of souls could be heard as they were ripped from the bodies of both the dead and the dying, and pulled into a great vortex. They spun and spun, whipping up a cyclone that swirled around with ash, smoke, and spirit alike. Then, Shaige tapped Ifrit's skull with the staff. The cyclone abruptly died, and the air rapidly cleared. What was revealed was a burned field full of the dead. The scion, the souls, and the strange hooded man had all vanished into the wind, not unlike smoke.

Shaige stood before Ifrit in the relative safety of the spirit realm, the tiny shadow somehow managing to loom over the massive beast. Then, the Keeper began to wait, hoping that the creature would wake up. Patience was a virtue that Shaige did not lack, unlike most of his Keeper brethren. Still, he would not wait a terribly long time. Ifrit would have to awaken soon, or not at all, as the spirit realm had a way of sapping the vitality of things that weren't dead, and there were all manner of nightmarish phantoms that could descend at any moment to attack such easy prey.

Ifrit woke, to see a shadow looming tall over him. Ifrit was not used to such treatment, more often having the roles reversed. His animal instinct told him to jump to his feet, tear limb from limb this transgressor of the ancient laws. Well, he didn't actually know if any ancient laws were broken, or if they had existed in the first place, but he was sure that there was some reason to kill the shadowy figure before him. Though he pushed with all of his might, his splintering bones refused to support him- sending him crashing back down. Now that he was fully conscious, his fire raged almost high, more of a natural response, an intimidation tactic.

Accepting the fact that he would be unable to physically confront the shadow, he surveyed the surroundings. More than anything, he was confused, unable to tell much about the surroundings simply by looking- but then, sight was never really his strongest sense. Ifrit took a deep whiff of the air, his pupils dilating as the scent filled his mind. Magic. Though it was not uncommon to smell magic in these times, this was different. The magical capability of this creature must rival, if not surpass that of his previous master. With that sweet scent filling his thoughts, it was rather difficult for Ifrit to focus on anything but the shadowy figure.

In a rough growl, Ifrit spoke, no real emotion behind his voice, echoing through the spirit realm. "Who are you... Why are you here..." Though crudely put, Ifrit knew no way to actually show his thankfulness, so he skipped straight to the point. He felt an ominous presence from this figure, and needed to know if... it... was hostile, or if it could be trusted- perhaps it had dragged him here for naught more than a peaceful feast. Ifrit was hopeful that he could make a hasty escape, should his situation turn sour.

---

Viktor emerged from the almost trance-like state he went into whenever he crafted minions. Patience was not something he had much of, and looked up at the red sky more than a few times, in his impatient worry. He knew this was a bad sign, and he needed to craft his army faster, if he were to survive, and continue with the glorious evolution. His new minion followed suit of those that preceded it, being a strong creature with little mental capacity. It stamped its feet impatiently, sending shudders through the stone floor.

The castle walls had been stripped of the armaments that adorned it, which supplied the resources for this monstrosity. Like the ogres, it stood upon legs stitched together haphazardly, creating thick pillars of flesh. Upon the four blistered legs resided a ballista, like a massive wooden head. The calloused flesh was wrapped around the wooden stock of the ballista, making a rather brutal combination of monster and machine. The heart and brain of this creature laid encased in glass, a rather sloppy design flaw. However, the creature would have to do, as Viktor was not patient enough to recreate it.

Quickly enough, four more were created, before Viktor realized that he was out of ballistae. Viktor did not send these five minions out into the town to be trained, as they would simply be operated by skeletons, his smartest minions currently. As he turned away from the gargantuan monsters, he began working again. There were debts to pay. Monsters to feed. It seemed that he would get no rest, unless he kept improving. An errant thought ran through his head, making him question the whereabouts of Stamrad. He made a mental note to berate him on his inefficiency later, before he went to work.

Balon was surprised by Enly'air suddenly surging forward with some sort of conjured spear. She was moving fast, and by pulling herself down along the haft of his spear she had put him in an awkward position in which he wouldn't be able to intercept her with his shield. So Balon made a quick decision and did something that would no doubt be equally unexpected; his spear and shield clattered to the ground with a tremendous thud as he dropped them. Then, the giant fell straight forward like a domino, intending to crash down on his foe like an avalanche.

Since Enly'air was already darting through the water towards Balon, suddenly switching directions in the fraction of the second that she had would be difficult. Her instinctual reaction would probably be to raise her spear and let the giant impale himself on it, but Balon's massive chestplate was like a wall of bronze. However, being crushed beneath Balon would not necessarily be a sure death; the tunnel's floor was uneven and with the water to cushion any impacts Enly'air might find herself merely bruised and trapped between two bumps in the floor, with Balon unable to crush her.

________________________

Ifrit's poor vision was a mercy, for there were only haunting and cold things to be seen in spirit realm. Everything was as it was in the world of the living, only dead. Mounds of bones were strewn across the landscape, while dreary winds whistled between what dead, petrified trees. Not far away was the ruined version of Paterdomus. The mountain of rubble was hardly recognizable, and more resembled a cairn than a necropolis. The sky was bleak and grey, the sun itself dead in this world. The soft, sickly glow of ectoplasm was all that illuminated the landscape.

In this desolate plane, Shaige was at home. His form always yearned to be here; if it were not for the vial of blood that was his dungeon heart, Shaige would have little to anchor him to the world of the living and would no doubt end up trapped in this bleak world. Ifrit, however, did not blend in. This was a dreary, dead world of blacks and whites and greys. The vibrant oranges and yellows from Ifrit's raging flames could be seen for miles, and such colors and signs of life would attract the souls of the damned like flies to a corpse.

After a pregnant pause, Shaige responded to Ifrit with a simple statement, "I saved you from the humans."

The Shadow took a few fleeting glances off into the distance, and seemingly saw something. Whatever it was, the Keeper did not share, though he was worried enough to raise his staff into the air. A cloak of impenetrable darkness now shrouded the two of them and their immediate surroundings. With Ifrit's light not visible it would take some time for any revenants to find him, though the warmth of the living would eventually lead them to their prey.

The Shadow's whisper came again from within the empty depths of its hood, "I just spared your life a second time. We are in the spirit realm. Your light would have attracted unwanted attention, and you are not welcome here. You will have to leave here soon, or not at all. Tell me of yourself, and I will heal you."

Ifrit felt rage boil in his bones. How dare this... Whatever it was... insinuate that he could spare the life of Ifrit. Before he could spurt out rage and fire, he managed to stop himself. Sheer fear held his tongue, as he knew that there was great power beneath this shadowy cloak. So, rather than aggravate the man of such magical prowess, he complied with his requests, not wishing to be left in this land, to perish at the ghostly claws of those denizens residing in this realm. Having such limited vision, he did not experience the true fear that a human could, but he was more than capable of sniffing the danger that hung in the air.

"I am Ifrit. I am the great danger that scarred the earth, so many years ago. I am the smoke that suffocated generations of the weak. I am the fire that burned down dynasties of elder kings. I am fear incarnate. I AM IFRIT, THE SCION OF THE INFERNAL KING." He said, the words more of a rehearsed script, rather than actual pride. Those words had filled the ears of thousands of dying souls, it was rather odd that in this case, Ifrit was reciting this at the mercy of another soul.

Though the darkness that surrounded the two certainly did not help Ifrit's eyesight, his sense of smell easily penetrated the illusion. Though he was used to the scent of death, this was different- this was off, somehow. When Ifrit killed things, the scent of death that lingered was... still. But these spirits refused to rest, stirring up odors the like of which Ifrit had rarely smelt. Ifrit was glad for the Keepers deep magical scent, as it masked the unnerving scent of those restless dead roaming about- waiting to feast upon those careless enough to linger in their realm.

The captain's body, gaunt and wan, lay limply on the deck in the dark of night. He wasn't dead as far as Moros can tell, but with his life force siphoned away he might as well have been. The northman stepped back, physically unchanged yet stronger in spirit. “Pity you didn't make us show you the money we promised you,” he drawled as he turned away, boots creaking on the caravel's aged boards. On the main deck, he found Aeternam and Eris waiting for him. “Why didn't you just kill him?” crabbed the old man, wiping blood and hair off his thin, dark metal saber on a pitch-stained rag before replacing it in his cane. “Our quest is to find our kin, not waste time building ourselves one brick at a time. The payoff will come when we stand united, little brother.” Moros simply glared in reply, disgruntled that his methods were being discredited so thoroughly for interfering with the quest so little.

Meanwhile, the feeling of commitment was really starting to sink in to Eris. She, though having only choked out or beaten unconscious her assigned targets, could acutely sense how serious her new comrades were, particularly the elder. Though playing along with these murderers for now, she could always come out on top later; they were relying on her in several aspects. First and most broadly, she was their conduit to her alleged sisters, able to vouch for them and persuade others to join the cause. Secondly, her ability had been instrumental in their takeover of the caravel: in the late evening, when the crimson sun was peeking over the horizon, she had released her aura to begin a brawl among the crew. Afterward, everyone was tired, irritable, and wanted nothing more than to be alone—perfect for elimination. Now that she ship was theirs, only a few miles remained between the trio and the rumored dead zone.

One by one, they disembarked, carrying with them various equipment and provision stolen from the ship. From the torchlit vessel they entered an oppressive, swaddling darkness, stuffy and thick like some infernal fog. The solitary lifeboat arrived at the shore of the Myra River without incident. Illuminated by the light the lifeboat's lantern, Eris, Moros, and Aeternam walked steadily through the darkness, following the river southwest. The plains here were untouched by man, long and thick, full of insects and the occasional sleeping rodents that bolted when its slumber was intruded upon by determined footsteps. Once, about thirty minutes into the hike, the night's silence was broken by a keen, whooping cry in the distance. Remembering the tale of a riverman who frequented her Sand Pits, Eris guess that it was a manticore. Her allies only grunted in response. For the remainder of the trek, she couldn't shake the feeling that the beast was following them through the gloom, waiting for the right moment to strike. Though not a fearful woman, Eris quickly became aware of an intense, primal terror of the unknown, all too characteristic of humans. As a result, her self-doubt increased; if she was what these people said she was, such human instincts would be far beneath her.

Finally, the land beneath themchanged, and Moros stopped dead. He knelt examined the grass beneath him with wide eyes. If there was something special about it, Eris could not identify it, but Aeternam seemed to feel the same way about the black vegetation as Moros did. “It's not dead,” he said at last. “But it is very sick. I don't understand...”

While the two fretted over the grass, Eris continued to peer out into the darkness, searching for any threat. Gradually, she realized that there were, in fact, eyes staring back at her. First one pair, then two, then five. Only when they started to move toward her did she conclude that these ghostly eyes were more than figments of an uneasy imagination. “Eyes! Coming at us!” Moros and Aeternam, surprised and initially skeptical, shot to attention when they, too, saw the eyes spreading out to surround the circle of light radiated by the lantern of Eris. Moros grinned and put up his fists, while the old man's hand latched onto the hilt of his cane, ready to draw the hungry blade within.

Rather than a pounce and a shriek, a low voice issued from the darkness. “Intruders. Drop any weapons and put your hands above your heads.” Into the lantern's light came five men, though even in good light they would have been hard to look upon. Their skin was incredibly blemished, discolored and rotting in some places. By was of clothes they wore damp rags, grimy bandages, and scraps of rusted armor, none of which concealed their deformities. Plainly, they were diseased. Despite their condition, however, they brandished nasty-looking spears and swords and seemed as fierce as any soldier...perhaps even more. All this Aeternam took in instantly, and he raised his cane over the chest of Moros to prevent him from attacking. “We are envoys. Take us to your master.”

At that, the supposed leader of the vile squad seemed somewhat surprised. “M'lady? Very well; we will escort you to her. Make no sudden moves.” As the group began to move as one into the area marked by blackened grass, the old man commented to his little brother in a whisper Eris strained herself to hear, “We thought to find a brother in these dead lands. We may, in reality, have found a sister.”

A group of imps repeatedly chanted in a circle, attempting to summon something. It seemed as if they were attempting to summon a huge storm to destroy a rather large town. Well, they would get a storm, just not in the form they wanted. They had made one mistake, they accidentally replaced the word "storm" with "stormkeeper" whilst chanting.

A Keeper from the Fifth Age of Evil floated, frozen in the void. He had tried to keep his knowledge, his thoughts, and his life together, despite the situation he was in. Despite his efforts, everything he had been trying to keep together had gone away from him. All he knew was that his name started with "Esc". He had been tired of that name anyways, though. While he was trying to remember his name, a hole ripped under him into a new world. The Keeper dropped straight through the hole, and appeared underground.

"Are those... imps, I think? I can't remember anything...", he said. Suddenly, his hand ripped out through the ground, completely on its own, going straight through the symbol of a lightning bolt in the middle of the summoning circle. A crack of lightning was heard in the distance at the same time as the Keeper's hand came out of the ground. Suddenly, he started coming out of the ground, and by the dirt was only up to his waist, the imps had frozen in surprise. The Keeper suddenly cast a lightning bolt on accident, and he flew out of the ground on accident. To his surprise, the lightning bolt hadn't taken that much energy to cast. Then, he realized what he would be. His new name would be Lord Rain, Stormkeeper.

A lone imp dared to speak, and in a rather shaky and quiet voice, it began to speak.

"A-are you r-really a Keeper?" the imp said.

"Yes, yes I am. I guess you want to work for me?" Lord Rain replied.

The imp got all the other imps to discuss it with him, and quite quickly, they had all agreed on what to say.

"Y-yes we do want to work for you" the imp said, his voice still a bit shaky.
Lord Rain took a quick look around, and saw that there was a small town nearby. He decided this was where he will erect his Dungeon, and he would eventually turn the nearby small town into a slave camp for humans. He began to build a staircase using his magic, which stretched up to about 50 feet. Lord Rain had become tired by this work, but when the imps offered to help, he insisted they didn't. He summoned a rather large lightning bolt, which ripped a chunk of the ground out from where it landed. He brought the chunks of ground up to the place where the staircase ended, and built a floating foundation for what would become a floating castle. He told his Imps how to build the castle, and then he built his Heart, a creation made of clouds and pure lightning, thumping just like an actual heart. He then got in the heart, and began to work on his first creature.

((Sorry for wall of text, also, I hope I didn't get too much done in one post!))
((My Compendium entry:

R4inator
Lord Rain - A Keeper. Lord Rain was previously a Keeper from the Fifth Age of Evil on Outremar, but due to the long time spent in the Void, he lost all of his memories besides the fact he knew his old name began with "Esc", and a bit of basic Keeper knowledge, such as how to make a Heart, and a couple magic spells. He looks like a human in many ways, besides the fact his eyes glow white and his skin radiates with electricity.
Dungeon - N20°W06. A large floating castle covered with a layer of clouds, the only thing leading up to it is an enchanted staircase. Features a Heart made of stone and electricity. The Heart actually beats like a real life heart.
Imp - A small group of these imps are just average imps. The majority are imps that are colored grey-ish with a symbol of a blue lightning bolt on their forehead. It is slightly larger than a normal imp.
))

---

First minion - 0/3
Forces: 8 imps
Constructs/Rogue Beings: N/A
Resources: A few bags of tools and food for the imps, along with some stones and dirt.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, and flying castle dungeon

They had dug for many weeks to dig a path to the caverns and many months to dig out their lair. Over time the small collection of mages had used their magical arts to create their own little fortress within the volcano, which lay on the island off the coast on the string of Volcano islands (About 50, 16). Most of these caves were still uninhabited and they lived mostly in a single strip of small rooms, a bunkhouse, stores rooms and a library, while the rest of the caves were simply used for... experiments. Eventually, three of them had decided to perform the most complicated ritual they could imagine. To do this, they spent many weeks to dig their way to the Magma Chamber of the volcano... And now here they were, stood above a pit full of the liqud hot magma, tossing choking sulfer up at them.
There were four of them in total, three brothers and a woman, quite obviously held against her will judging by the way one of them had his hands clasped tightly around her arms like a vice. The Ring leader had slate grey eyes and black hair, short cut and kept neatly in line, with dark and forboding grin that revealed his white teeth. The middle of the three who held the girl, had the same grey eyes but brown hair instead, with a crooked nose and a scar down his cheek. The third was the youngest, and had a different rather to the other two. He had blonde hair and blue eyes and was barely into his teens, with rather large ears and a kind smile which did not fit the cruel act they were performing.
The ring leader nodded to the youngest of the three brothers, who returned the nod as he pushed the young girl towards him. She kicked and sqealed as he seized her by the throat, raising her off the floor with unnatural strength
They stood in a circle around the fiery depths, and cut her throat to form their alliegance... the blood hissed as it hit the flames. The life left her green eyes and she fell limp in his hands as she choked on her own blood. The leader rose from the girls lifeless corpse, tossing it onto the fire "Hear the words of Malakar, fires of the mountain! Summon forth the mistress of the flames and bind her essence to me, to Ari, to Andrew!" He yelled into the fires, and they joined with him in their yells
"Lend us your power, mistress of the flames!" They called... and the body raised from the fiery pit, a chared wreck as they had expected. They fell to their knee's in praise at the charred body.
"My lady, we have brought you forth from the void, bless us with a place at your side as you conquer this world and con..." But he was cut off by a laughter... a dark, grating laughter. And then the corpse hovered forwards, it's eyes coming to rest on him
"Oh, poor Malakar, summoned the wrong being, did we?" It said, in a masculine voice, and the three men raised and stumbled back, startled
"But... I performed every... No matter, you're bound to me, you must obey my command. Name thyself!" He shouted, taking a step forwards and reasserting his confidence... but the charred corpse gave another dark laugh
"Me, obey you? Who do you think you are little Malakar? But do not fear... for you gave me a beacon to this world that I might claim it. You three did me a great favour, and I shall repay it... I have a gift for each of you, one greater gift for one, and a lesser gift for the other two. Which do you each wish?" Malakars eyes lit up with greed and he stepped forwards
"I shall take the grand gift, your lord ship" He said, bowing to the floor. The corpse cracked a smile, a sickening crunch echoing from it's burnt lips as it floated forwards towards him
"Excellent... Look into my eyes, Malakar" The corpse said, and the man looked up towards the corpse and into the empty holes where it's eyes should be. Suddenly there was a flash within them, and he screamed and tried to pull away but the corpse stuck out both it's burnt arms, grabbing him with a grip of death and holding him in place. The other two backed away from their brother and looked to each other in fear. Suddenly the light stopped, and Malakar and the corpse fell to the floor, Malakar having turned into a mumified body. There was a bright flash and a new one being appeared. Having absorbed the energy from Malakar, he had been able to tear a hole large enough to force his way through from the void "I am Kalok the Heartless" He said, with a dull smile. Andrew looked towards Malakar in horror, and Kalok caught the look on his face before speaking "His soul is trapped inside that rotting shell, I needed his energy, I had grown weak from my wait in the void."
Ari glanced to the tunnel they had made to the entrance as if contemplating escape, but was a bit taken aback when he saw that in it's place lay a small, purple vortex. He had seen this when they had been summoning lesser creatures. He kept his eyes trained on it, awaiting whatever foul creature was about to step out, and at last they did. Or rather, flew out. Tweleve imps came through the portal, their wings flapping to keep their stocky bodies in the air as they landed at the entrance to the tunnel as the portal closed behind them. They all had a black mark stamped onto their forehead, the symbol of their master, except one who had the mark in Silver... Actual silver that appear to have been grafted into his forehead. He was a foreman, an overseer of the imps, controlling them when his master wasn't available or simply couldn't be bothered to.
"You call, we come, yes master! We loyal imps! We good imps!" The imp foreman said, bouncing up "We bring pickaxes too, master, so humans can serve!" One of the imps stepped forwards, dropping two pickaxes to the floor and bidding Ari and Andrew to come take them. Ari raised his voice in protest
"We're not slaves, we won't bend knee to yo..." But he was cut off as Kalok gave him a dark look
"Would you like to become like Malakar? I could do with some more energy, Ari" Kalok said with a dark grin, approaching him menacingly and Ari miserably backed down and took up the dull pickaxe. Kalok smelt the air, and whispered to himself under his breath. Slowly but surely, his body mutated into a different form. He paused for a moment, before raising his voice and announcing "This will be our dungeon heart... Andrew, are there more of you?" He asked, turning his head towards the young boy, who quivered for a moment
"Yes, my lord, eleven more..."
"Excellent. Imps, find them and bring them to me, they shall join us or die." Kalok commanded. The foreman gave a curt bow and him and his imps raised into the air and flew off through the tunnels once more, vanishing into the dark

---

They returned a short while later, with ten humans trailing nervously... Only Ten imps returned, and the foreman trudged forwards before bowing slightly before Kalok
"My lord, one of the humans put up a fight... We lost Ki and Ti, but Zi brought him down" He said fearfully, as if expecting to be tossed into the lava for losing two of his imps. Kalok nodded slowly and the foreman flinched, but Kalok looked upon the mages "Some serve 'willingly'... the others will not." The Foreman whimpered gestured to his imps, and they batted two of the mages forwards. They glared at Kalok and he returned the stare, having a sort of staring contest. That was how it remained for a few minutes, before Kalok simply shrugged and turned away
"Cast them into the fires." He ordered, and an imp grabbed each shoulder of the mages and raised into the air. The two mages let out terrible screams and attempted to use their magic, but the imps flew above the magma and dropped them down towards their fiery dooms. The lava hissed as it stripped away their skin and melted their bones. Kalok turned to the other mages
"Does anyone else wish to question their lord?" He said forbodingly, in a manner suggesting that he wouldn't be afraid to kill every last one of them if anyone tried anything. They all tenatively shook their heads, and Kalok smiled. "Excellent. You shall begin construction of my dungeon immediately... We shall call it Kasi'dur. "Leave me." He ordered, and the imps nodded, slipping out of the room with the new human slaves.
Kalok approached the fiery pit and drew a length of magma out of it with magic, placing it like a bridge across to a single pillar of rock within the center. Cooling it magically so that it hardened into black obsidian, Kalok crossed the bridge to the center of the chamber and raised a small pedestal of stone from the ground. He opened his clothing and revealed a single scar running down the left side of his chest. He moved his hand gently to it, before digging his fingers in. The warm blood trickled down from it as he grimaced in pain... and tore out his own, beating heart. Breathing heavily from the pain, he placed it within a lock box, turned the key in the lock and listened for the tumblers click, then placed it upon the pedestal. Turning, he crossed the obsidian bridge and and drew a roll of paper from Malakars corpse, laying it out over a small stone slab and setting up four gems, each a purple cystralline structure, around the slab, before setting to work.
First Creature: 0/3

He smiled as his creation floated before him, encased in a lavished, shiny version of the torture instrument known as Iron Maiden, its dimensions were fairly large though the Maiden was 15 feet tall and 8 feet wide and 4 feet deep. It hovered above the quicksilver pool and spun gently in the air as Macaroth inspected it, he set it down on the chamber floor and opened the mask window to greet the occupant.

A pale gentle face lay behind the mask, her eyes slowly opened revealing them to be bright and captivating ice blues and she smiled extending her rosy lips, her voice was musical as she spoke "Hello father..how may i serve you". Macaroths heart skipped a beat, she was even better than he expected, he smiled back to her "all in due time my sweet Rose, just sleep for now." She closed her eyes again as he closed the beautifully molded mask that hid even greater beauty. He summoned his imps and had her taken upstairs to sit in the chapel in place of the altar. Macaroth sat down to rest after this arduous task was done and contently ran his fingers through his long hair and relaxed by the fireplace in his throne.

The people came to the chapel to see this new machination of strange times, while fearing the Iron Maiden they were also captivated by the fact that it was not in any way grisly like its sisters. The Iron maiden was molded into an image of a girl praying while looking up to the sky, her hair flowing around her and her hands clasped to her chest, also the girl had angelic wings that extended along the sides of the metal box. The people were somehow comforted by it, trusting their saint to know whats best as his army grew stronger by the day the man at arms having amassed a hundred more able men in just a few days. These men were excluded from Macaroths life sapping aura for the duration of their service.

The Ripper's one voice reminiscent of the Weaver made an attempt to speak out to Zadok. Seemingly just now having noticed it, a hundred of the malicious voices began to assault it. For several moments the Ripper was no more than a writhing, red mass unleashing a jarring discord of howling voices. Throughout the duration of the mental battle the Ripper was utterly incomprehensible and seemed distracted.

The Carver seized this opportunity to attack. It let its mind reach out, feeling the grains of the wood that made us his elaborate sculpture, the Universe. The Ripper was nothing but a great impingement, a taint upon the beauty that millennium of ceaseless work had brought about. The Carver called upon the sculpture itself, for its power was its own and was the source of Carver's. Within a precise hand, the guardian meticulously guided a surge of energy down countless tiny grains in the sculpture, right into the Ripper.

When the energy of creation came into contact with the Ripper's destructive power, the result was explosive. The invisible stream of magic was like lightning upon colliding with the Ripper. The resulting thunder shook the Source all the way to its outermost layers, and stirred up even more potent storms on its surface. The lightning's wave of energy would soon reach Elysium in the form of a brief flash in the sky, by then too weakened to cause any harm. A good deal of its adversary's power had been canceled out of blasting away by the explosion, yet the Carver still remained weaker and smaller than the Ripper.

The Carver somehow managed to keep Zadok safely within its cohesion. It quickly communicated, "I dread to think what the Demon might do to avenge that. Strike out at it with more of your holy magic, before it has a chance to recover!"

_____________________________________


Ifrit's petulant outburst managed to exasperate Shaige to some extent, though the Shadow's unnervingly stark visage and the stare of its amethyst eyes would reveal nothing. Frustrated at having not yet solved the mystery of whether this monster's master remained, he proclaimed, "When I stood amongst the trembling humans atop the walls, they said that your Infernal King is dead." Shaige remained there, gazing at Ifrit for a few moments in an attempt to elicit a response- an answer to the question that still perturbed him.

Then, the Shadow dissipated in the blink of an eye. Soon after he reappeared by Ifrit's side, regarding the beast's broken bones and roaring flames. As a Keeper Shaige possessed the power of creation; channeling his essence into Ifrit would allow for him to repair the beast easily enough, though that would not be without consequences. The magic of a new master could very well corrupt Ifrit, turning his raging flames into a deathly chill or perhaps allowing him to enter the spirit realm without aid. However, this was only Shaige's speculation; nothing could happen just as easily as something.

If Ifrit had worried that the shadow had left, he might be comforted to hear Shaige's emotionless tone from behind, "Healing you would be as simple as imbuing you with a piece of my essence. That method, however, would inevitably make you mine. I would bring you to my domain, and you would stay in my service. If you wish, however, I could leave you in peace here. Returning you to the land of the living would serve little purpose, as the humans would no doubt return you to here, permanently."

Shaige knew that he was not truly offering any choice; death and eternal banishment was an option few would take, even to spite a Keeper. But giving his essence was truly the only method of healing that Shaige possessed, and he did not lie when claiming that such magic would bind Ifrit into his service.


Compendium Entries:

The Anointed of Caldor: The so-called 'fire priests'. They are based in Paterdomus and rule from its fortress of a cathedral, in conjunction with the water priests. They worship Caldor, a god of conquest, life, and warmth. As fire is said to be Caldor's gift, and a means of worshiping and communing with him, they worship it by extension as well. The Anointed of Caldor do not possess any holy magic as the rest of Elysium would know it, in the sense that it is divine or angelic. Instead, they see their fire magic, supposedly a gift from Caldor, as being the holy magic. Any other forms of 'holy magic', with the sole exception of what the water priests use, are considered evil and forbidden forms of witchery.

While the water priests tend to only involve themselves with civil affairs, research, trade, and the defense of the realm, the Anointed of Caldor are expansionist and militant. Missionaries and embassies have been established in nearly every city or nation of importance that will allow it. The fire priests have fought numerous crusades to the south in the past, seeking to spread their beliefs by force when necessary, as well as to conquer new lands to further establish Paterdomus' power. Currently they seek to expand further inland, into the foothills and mountains to Paterdomus' west.

Though the Anointed of Rhuax are technically only the temple clergy and savants themselves, the fire mages and crusaders are sworn into Caldor's service and are practically part of the same organization. While Paterdomus' crusaders and fire mages usually come from orphans adopted by the temple or landed knights who join on their own volition, all the nobles of Paterdomus and its hinterlands are vassals of the temple itself, rather than a monarch. This effectively gives the fire priests indirect command over all the realm's standing armies, in addition to the power to levy citizens into militias if necessary. As such, if the fire priests deemed it necessary, they could raise one of the largest armies in Elysium to fight one of their crusades.



The Disciples of Unda: The so-called 'water priests'. They rule Paterdomus in conjunction with the fire priests. They worship Unda, sister goddess of Caldor. They see her as the bringer of rains, good fortune, and protection. Though she was once largely ignored by Paterdomus, with Caldor being their main deity, her following gained considerable respect hundreds of years ago when they blessed the Suri river with her power, dooming any of Paterdomus' foes to drown if they attempted to cross. This action undoubtedly save the city from the ice witches and their savage hordes to the North, some of Paterdomus' oldest and most hated enemies.

The Disciples of Unda are not nearly as aggressive as the the Anointed of Caldor, and their influence is the sole reason that the fire priests do not unleash the nation's full might on every tiny tribe that opposes their rule and religion. Though they try to discourage wars and crusades, seeking wealth elsewhere, they nonetheless do contribute to most crusades by sending small groups of their sorcerers, mainly to serve as healers but occasionally as diplomats, for those few times that the fire priests seek to negotiate. Currently the water priests are terrified that the Suri river's enchantment has been weakening as of late, and are desperately trying to repair it in fear that if it fails, Paterdomus will be in grave danger once more. The fire priests, however, dismiss the old legends as myth and continue waging their crusades, doubtful that Paterdomus' ancient enemies still remain a threat.

Lord Rain finished making his new creature. He walked out of the Heart and found the creature standing there. It stood about 5 feet tall, and had the shape of a human. It was made completely out of storm clouds, and could cast basic lightning magic. Lord Rain hadn't been able to do much else, but he made this creature to where it would work as the light infantry of his forces.

He also noticed that his castle had been finished, but it was missing something. It was missing a Lair and a place for his troops to eat at. He ordered his imps to build a place for food and a Lair for his troops. The imps began gathering materials, and Lord Rain cast a large bolt of lightning at the ground below the castle. Another chunk of the ground was ripped out and flew into the air, and he suspended it with magic and put it to the right of his castle. This would serve as the Hatchery. He repeated the process and put the ripped out chunk of land to the left of his castle. This would serve as his Lair. Lastly, he went to a small, unused room in his castle. He made a Portal out of stone, lightning, and storm clouds, to spawn creatures with. He then went back into his Heart, and began work on his second minion while his imps worked on the place for food for his troops, and his his Lair.

Second minion - 0/5
Forces: 8 imps, 1 Stormer.
Constructs/Rogue Beings: N/A
Resources: A few bags of tools and food for the imps, along with some stones, dirt, and a whole lot of clouds.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the flying-castle-dungeon itself, a Lair, a Hatchery, and a Portal.

Kalok took a step back from the altar and folded his arms with a smile "Arise." The creature rose from the slab and peered around the chamber, moving forwards. As it did, the glow from the lava caught it's dull greyish green skin. It's eyes trailed along the chamber until it came to rest on Kalok, who stepped forwards and circled his new creation
"Hm... could be better" He said as he examined it "But you'll suffice. Strong, fast... loyal. Who do you serve, Orc?" He inquired with a smug grin
"Kalok!" The Orc Growled in return, turning it's head towards it's master. Kalok nodded, stopping before the Orc.
"Foreman!" He called, and the whimpering, downtrodden little imp stumbled back into the room
"Yes master, what does the heartless one require?" He stuttered as he looked up to Kalok, then to the Orc with fearful eyes gulping as he looked at it, still remembering his failure from earlier. Kalok took a step forwards
"I wish a spawning room and a forge completed immediately. We have the mages most basic facilities, it's time we set up a way to call forth more minions, and my Orcs will need weapons if they are to conquer the world" Kalok ordered, then glanced to the Orc "What do you think, Ori? This is the first of my fighting Orcs. They will defend the heart and fight to the death in the armies to seize control of this realm. And this is just the beginning."
"Orc look big and strong, just like the master!" Ori said quickly, with a nod while regarding the Orc with fearful eyes. It gave a small growl and Ori jumped and turned quickly, scurrying off to relay Kaloks wishes to the other imps. Kalok turned and once again examined the Orc, who continued to watch him with inquisitive eyes. Kalok merely gestured and the Orc stomped off to patrol the dungeons halls with the grace and deliberation of a sleep walker. Kalok gave a small smile as he watched the things odd movements. It still needed to get used to walking, it appeared. No matter, it should adapt within the day. Kalok himself followed after him, there was much work to be done and so little time

Ifrit looked up to Shaige, before glancing back down at the pile of bony splinters that was, once, on of the most powerful forces to rage across the land. He tried to stand once again, but thundered down once more, even though he knew the effort had been futile all along. A beast of pride, Ifrit did not give up easily. He regarded the great shadow with curiosity when it said that The Infernal King had died. A deep noise, shaking the ground like thunder, roared out from his mouth. It could be considered the equivalent of laughter, though the meaning may have been missed by many. The Infernal King had been immortal- there was no conceivable way that he could've fallen in the short time that Ifrit had been locked up.

But the laughter died down quickly- Ifrit actually had no idea how long he had been trapped deep within the grasp of those winding halls of dust and stone- it could've been hours, or eons. While thinking, he realized how plausible his masters death could've been. Was the castle not under siege by some of the most powerful sorcerers when Ifrit was locked away? As those seeds of doubt blossomed in his mind, he began considering the offer the Keeper had made. Surely this being of such power could make a suitable master for Ifrit? It wasn't as if his other option was anything better.

But Ifrit was created by a prideful master, and he kept much of that pride in his own thought process. The King would kill him if he were to stoop so low as to accept help from this man. The fiery beast considered using the last of his energy to shoot a stream of flame at the shadow, simply to spite him. But nay, fear won the exchange, tainting his prideful will. "I will serve you, if you can find the mercy in your heart to spare me." He muttered, in a low, respectful tone.

---

After the use of many materials, as well as hard labor, the construct was finished, a rather large thing, taking up most of the space in Viktor's laboratory. Though this time, neither he nor the construct emerged from the laboratory. The construct was a massive piece of machinery, held up by an array of wires, tubes, and pipes connected to the ceiling of the lab. Protruding from the mess of iron were a few sparse bulges of flesh and blood, pulsating rhythmically. Various arms sprouted out from the construct, like silver branches, each armed with an array of tools. It hung above the working table in the center of the lab, and had two longer arms that could reach anywhere he needed to across the room. The mechanical neck of this construct was adorned with a beautifully crafted mask, smooth graceful curves of white contrasting the dark geometry of the rest of it.

Viktor had put his very essence into the creature, deep within it's metal confines. No longer would he be restricted to such dull working tools, he was a factory on his own. Naturally, he knew that this would put him in great danger, should someone penetrate his heart, but he was willing to sacrifice that sense of security for the gain he would receive. Without hesitation, he called forth his human husks, and had them ensure his room be especially fortified. He was pleased with the work he accomplished- soon enough, he would have an army large enough to raze the land of his enemies, while he simply stood by and watched.

The diseased soldiers escorted Eris, Aeternam, and Moros through the night to a crude shantytown. The further they tread into the dead zone, the swampier the ground became, until just as much muck and putrid water lay underfoot as earth. Though they held no light, the soldiers found their way with a surefootedness that could put a mountain goat to shame. Clearly they knew the area well, or some sort of power was guiding them. Perhaps both, ruminated the red woman as she navigated her way through the wretched bog; after all, the luminescence of their eyes denoted some sort of sorcery at work.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the lantern light hit a structure in front of them, followed by a dozen others like it. The term 'building' truly overstated them, as they were little more than shacks made of wood, sod, rusted metal sheets, anything really. Together they formed a dingy mockery of a shantytown, huddled together like lepers over a fire. As they were led through the narrow spaces between the shacks, the three observed all too well the squalor permeating this miserable residence. The people were no less repulsive than their dwellings. All looked alike, thanks to a coating of mire and generally stooped, ragged personage. Here and there brimstone torches interrupted the darkness with seething, crackling yellow fire, and in their mad illumination the denizens of the swamp looked less than human. Long, hooked noses, gray or drab olive skin plastered with blemishes and scabs, sunken skin, and long chins gave them the appearance of goblins.

The triumvirate hadn't long to examine the natives, however, before their escort stopped them at a packed dirt plinth at the shantytown's approximate center. Immediately, a different building became obvious. Tucked in between the trash dwellings was an actual wooden abode on stilts, thatched in black grass and laden with all sorts of occult paraphernalia from hanging charms to skulls to wax candles. Into this building one of the blighted men ventured, and from inside dim voices could be heard over the irritating, high-pitched drone of mosquitoes. They seemed to avoid Aeternam, and when they landed on Moros their tiny lives were drained into him, leaving the bodies to fall to the ground, so they converged on Eris instead. A short time later the blighted man reemerged, slamming the creaking door wide open. After him came a woman.

At her presence, the night grew ever more ominous and silent. Everyone present, including the trio, felt a creeping illness in his or her gut, tugging and twisting. The woman was an inch taller than Eris, with skin the color sepia but blanketed by pox scars. Her long, white hair fell down to her upper back, but her face was hidden beneath a huge, yellowed cow skull. More bones, accompanied by green lengths of cloth and stained bandages, defined her garb; she wore a sleeveless robe that reached to the ground supplemented by dark, ornate leather armor. In her hand was a crooked staff tipped with a mess of barbed wire wound around a huge needle. Her voice, deep and echoing due to the skull, reached out to the triumvirate, “Why have you breached the land of Malady?”

-=-=-

Some distance away from Ifrit and Shaige hovered an unusual revenant. This specter, no mere mundane apparition, was like them; it hadn't been in the stark, sepulchral spirit world for long. Though in previous existence it had been a being of incredible power, it was only a ghost now, ravenous like all its kind for life and warmth. Purpose, however, was something it did not want for. The drive present in this indomitable spirit had assisted in untold destruction before, and it was what would raise it from this gloomy world of the dead back to Elysium. At least, that purpose was part of the revenant's salvation, as it needed some sort of link to the other side to find a way through. As such, the presence of Shaige and Ifrit in the spirit world -particularly the flames and burning pride of the Infernal King's Scion- was an incredible temptation, discernible even through Shaige's stealth enchantments. Slowly, inexorably as death, the revenant drew nearer.

"Number seven... -ber seven... Seven!" Seven woke up suddenly, jolted and sitting up abruptly, he looked to the bars to see a slave sliding his meal of bread and water under the cell door, "Your meal is here, eat up. Master's orders." Master? He wasn't seven's master, seven wasn't even a test subject, he was that noble's test subject. The only one to last so long, seven was surprised that he hadn't been driven insane or disfigured in some way by now, with the experiments that were being done to him. Dragon's blood, how did that noble get his hand on dragon's blood? Every day, that stuff was injected into seven, done for so long that he'd gotten used to the burning sensation that accompanied it. The only thing that ever changed about him was his eye, of which the irises and pupils had reshaped into a pointed oval shape, the same style that a lizard or dragon would have.

Seven had just finished his meal when the door was opened by the 'assistants', the only people, slaves, aside from the noble that new what happened to him, they even helped whenever needed. The usual thing happened, one of them walked in with a club and swung it, the last thing seven ever sees is the smirk on their face. The next thing he wakes up to is always the noble's face, a Lord Baaz, hovering over his as seven is strapped to the table. Sometimes, he could glance to the right and spot a corpse in the corner, a 'failed experiment'. Seven hated Baaz, and wanted to excape, but he would never be able. Thus the experiment began, but this time something different happened. "Today, I shall try something different. I have mixed dragon's blood with something else, a being's essence that my mage came across a few days ago. I'm interested in how you will react, hopefully you won't end up like that failure over there." Seven made the mistake of looking, the distraction being enough for Baaz to force the flask into his mouth and force him to some.

There was no effect, so Baaz did what he usually would when this happened and drove a small knife into seven's chest, creating a hole that avoided any organs but allowed for the injection of different fluids and chemicals. Baaz wasn't one for proper methods. He then tipped the flask, which finally shown in the light a dark, shadowy red color, enough for a small stream to flow into the wound. What happened next was unexpected and... unnerving. As soon as the dark substance touched something inside the wound, it began flowing out and continued flowing out of the flask and into him despite Baaz holding it upright again. The entirety of it flowed into seven, after which he felt an odd sensation throughout his body, replaced shortly afterward by a slight buzzing in the back of his head with what sounded faintly like whispers in the backround.

Baaz, having seen no apparent changes or facial expressions from seven, was about to speak when there was a knock at the door. Sighing in irritation, Baaz stepped over and opened the dorr just enough for only him to be seen. "What is it!?" The irritation was clear in his voice, "Sir, there's someone here to see you at the entrance. It's another noble, I didn't get his name." Baaz pinched the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache before looking back at his 'assistants', "Make sure my reseach is undisturbed, I want to check my notes when I get back." They nodded, a mischeivous glint in their eyes, as Baaz left to go deal with his visitor.

The assistant slaves walked over to seven, they had been ordered that his research be undisturbed, and they took it to mean not to let anyone aside Baaz in, and not to let anything damage him. They always had something in mind to torture seven and still get away with it, today they chose waterboarding. The sack was on his head when he heard a click, the door had been opened, followed by the assistants' surprised gasps at having been caught. Then both of them attempted to shout an alarm, "Intr-" Then seven heard a familar sound, that of a blade sliding quickly into flesh, followed shortly gurgling and two soft thuds on the stone floor. Seven was quiet, a few moments later there was the sound of someone rummaging followed by a satisfied, deep, and quiet whisper, "Ahah, found it. Now to turn it in and collect my pay..." He didn't know why, but seven made a small grunting noise as the thief was halfway to the door. The footsteps stopped, and all was silent aside from seven's breathing, as though the thief was thinking over something. A few more footsteps, getting closer, then the snapping of leather, his restraints, "Do not remove that sack until five seconds after you hear the door close. This is just the result of a bonus."

Seven wasn't sure how long five seconds was, as he didn't remember how to count or tell time due to being trapped in this place for so long. So he waited until it felt like long enough before pulling off the dark sack on his head. Sitting up and hanging his legs off the edge of the table, he immediately saw the assistants lying on the floor in a pool of their blood, the wounds being dagger-sized holes in their throats. Seven got down and made his way shakily to the door, avoiding the blood, before slowly opening it and leaving. He made his way through the halls, leaning against the walls a majority of the time, before he finally found himself in what must have been Baaz's study.The room looked relatively untouched aside from the furnished desk with papers and a half-written letter on it, but what caught seven's attention was a large parchment with a drawing and markings on it, he grabbed it and rolled it up.

Also in the room was a mirror, but seven didn't bother to look at it, all he would've seen was a malnourished, dark-haired individual with many scars, standing at average hight with pale skin from lack of sunlight. Seven opened a set of glass door that led out onto a balcony, the sunlight streaming down and tainting everything red. He leaned against the railing for a moment, he couldn't remember sunlight ever being red. As soon as he looked up at the sun, the whispering, buzzing noise turned into a raging inferno that consumed his mind. There was an entity trying to take over, his mind, the one thing he knew would always be his own. Despite the pain, he heard a commotion in the building, he must've been screaming. Unable to keep himself standing, and not able to control his fall, he flipped over the railing and fell.

There was a dull thud, seven had landed on something that squirmed a little before he was lifted up by several pairs of small, clawed hands. Unable to focus, seven couldn't tell what was carrying him into the forest when his vision went black and the two minds absorbed themselves into eachother, with seven's winning out in control over the truly pitiful keeper's. He awoke some time later, enough time had passed that the sun was just setting, and he saw that was some ways up the side of a mountain, in the mouth of a small cave. He flinched when an overcooked squirrel on a stick appeared in front of him, without thinking he grabbed it and started tearing into it. "Doesn't seem like much, does he?" Seven paused, and he heard a few more small voices utter surprised remarks, a couple of them audibly covering the speaker's mouth.

Seven finally turned to see nine imps gathered around a small fire, knowledge from the now gone keeper pouring into his head, "Tell me, where are we?" They looked at each other, having expected a punishment, before the smallest of them spoke up, "M-Master, we are in a cave in the side of a volcano at the southern-most end of the Hindrun Ranges..." Seven stared at them for a few more moments, sensing heat coming from further inside the cave, before speaking again, "I am going further into the cave, I'm not to be disturbed." They nodded vigorously, immediately all but one going outside the cave to keep watch for interruptions, as seven made his way further in.

The deepest part of the cave contained a pool of lava, only fueled a little by the volcano. New knowledge came that allowed him to change the lava, making it so that it would never harm him or anyone he permits to touch it, sealed it off from the magma feeding it, and infusing his essense with what was there, making it glow with an additional golden color and allowing it to forever remain as lava. Next, seven walked into it, his new role compelling him to create, which would also give him time to sort his new mind.

When the Ripper turned on itself to purge out what remained of the Weaver, Zadok felt loss. It was almost as if he was losing the Weaver all over again. Whatever being had taken the Weaver's place clearly no longer answered to the name of Weaver, and had no intention of changing that. Much like the Keepers, it seems that the Ripper seeks destruction and power as rewards in themselves. Then Zadok was rocked by the massive surge of power which the Carver sent at the Ripper, and the explosion which resulted. Had he not been safely cocooned inside the Carver that might have ended quite badly for him.

When he heard the Carver speak to him, he nodded in response. They could not allow the Ripper to survive and devour everything. While Zadok would not be able to unleash a pulse as powerful as before, as he had not spent as much time soaking up the Source's magic, he would still be able to deliver a strong blow. He stretched out his right arm and it glowed a brilliant white for a moment before a blinding white beam of holy light shot forth from the arm. On hitting the core the light scattered, dispersing the rays out in a wide flash which should weaken the Ripper.

---

Calvartem's hoard had grown in number. As he marched through the streets, walkers had broken off and entered the houses, slaying any occupants they found. Calvartem would then raise those killed as walkers to join his hoard and bolster his numbers. When the soldiers of the town attempted to confront his hoard Calvartem would break their strong formation and leave them vulnerable to being overrun by the walkers. As they approached the keep, Calvartem's hoard consisted of a mix of skeletons, civilian corpses and zombified armed guards. But they would not be enough to breach the walls surrounding the keep. Much of the town had taken shelter behind those tall walls, and most of the army was also assembled behind them, as well as on top of them.

Amongst the archers and mages stood a red-robed priest. "Stand firm, soldiers," he announced, "Caldor shall give us the strength to strike down this unholy being and its false fire! Do not let your faith waiver!"

Calvartem scoffed. They thought whatever god they had could save them from him. As his hoard approached the gate and were fired upon by arrows and fireballs, Calvartem realised that he would need more than just zombies to penetrate the gate. So he raised his staff and commanded, "Breaker, rise!" The shadows engulfing the fleshy orb embedded into the staff dispersed, and moments later twenty walkers or the bodies of those walkers which had fallen slid and rolled across the ground until they merged in front of the castle's gate. Flesh and bone twisted and warped until an extremely muscular 4-metre tall zombie stood at the head of the hoard. Arrows and fireballs were shot at Breaker, but the arrows did nothing to disturb the beast as they poked out of its flesh and the fireballs did nothing but burn its skin. Breaker's fists fell upon the gate, causing it to buckle. The living battering ram continued, ignoring the projectiles raining upon it. After just a few blows the gate had been suitably deformed for Breaker to grab hold of it with its meaty fingers and pry the gate open. The steel reinforcing the gate buckled and bent under the unrelenting strain. Finally the gate was torn open, its hinges shattered. With the way open, the hoard poured inside.

The army had prepared for the attack, but they had not prepared for a one-and-a-half tonne zombie which ignored all their attacks. A squad of musketeers had been on the ready, and all of them fired upon Breaker, but the little balls of lead did nothing to slow it down and the squad was scattered by the charge. As Calvartem watched from the back of the hoard, he saw that Breaker's high resistance to damage made him brutally effective at scattering enemy formations. Calvartem was not passive in this battle, despite the chaos unfolding as the Breaker roamed around and the walkers threw themselves at the soldiers and swarmed around them and up the stairs and on to the walls as well. Calvartem fired bolts of black fire at any spell-casters which seemed to pose any threat, as well as at any tight groups of soldiers, and in doing this he crushed what hopes of resistance the town had while secure behind a hoard of walkers and atop a horse that was blacker than night. He was also sure to raise what soldiers and walkers which fell back up as walkers so they would add to his number.

With-in an hour the town had been sacked of all the living by the hoard of walkers. Despite the victory, Calvartem felt drained, for he had summoned and resummoned hundreds of walkers during the attack as well as the spells he had used to fight directly. Calvartem dismounted from Shadowmane and stood on the cobblestone plaza inside the castle walls, where he struck the ground with his staff. Countless small tendrils of black flame snaked from across the town and merged into Calvartem as all the walkers in the town found a suitable resting place and collapsed, their spirit returned to their master. Then, with a wave of his staff, Breaker's essence left its colossal body and returned to its orb on the Necromancer's staff. While returning his army to death restored him some of his energy, he was still far from full strength.

Calvartem struck the ground again and twenty ghostly imps materialised. "Build me a Death Spire," he commanded simply, and the imps went off to obey without a word, not that they could speak. As the imps got to work, the sky was filled with a flash of light, and a prismatic aurora wove across the sky for a few moments before it faded again. That was a strange sight, and he was not sure what caused it. But it had passed now, so it was no longer of concern to him.

While the imps worked, Calvartem had one thing he could do. One of his ribs had been shot off in the battle. While this was an insignificant injury, Calvartem decided that it should be repaired nonetheless. Walking up to one of the corpses laying on the ground, he outstretched his hand towards it and the corpse's flesh twisted and bulged. Then, tearing through the muscle and skin, emerged a rib bone. It floated out of the corpse and in underneath Calvartem's robes. There was the sound of shuffling bone, and it was done. His hand brushed along his side, feeling the rib which had been replaced, and he was satisfied with the repair job he had done. With no more to do than wait, Calvartem watched his imps as they took apart houses to build the Death Spire.

Lord Rain stepped out of the Heart, and found that his new buildings were ready for use. First, he decided to observe his new creation. It was a 7 foot tall humanoid. It looked like a human's skeleton, made out of electricity. It was covered with storm clouds. It wielded a bolt of lightning as a sword, to shock opponents. It could cast storm magic just above basic level. It would work well for the backbone of his forces, as they also were capable of running very fast, which could be put to good use in a charge.

He decided on what to do. He would get his imps to go to his portal and summon 100 Stormers and 50 of the new creatures... Bolters would make a fitting name. So, he got his imps and gave them their orders. He also ordered them to summon 22 more imps. He then found an empty room in the castle, and built a Forge himself. He created a source of magical lightning that was cooler than usual and produced next to no sound. It would do the heating needed for the forging process. He then went to his Heart again to make a Construct for his Stormers.



Stormer Construct: 0/3
Forces: 8 imps, 1 Stormer, 1 Bolter
Constructs/Rogue Beings: N/A
Resources: A few bags of tools and food for the imps, along with some stones, dirt, and a whole lot of clouds.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the flying-castle-dungeon itself, a Lair, a Hatchery, and a Portal.

The giant’s change of tactics caught Enly’air off guard. Her conjured weapon wouldn’t serve her against its fall. She had no choice. She put her trust in Xir’ain and let the giant fall.

The hulking mass of metal and rot would find its fall suddenly stopped. One arm pressing against the massive bronze breastplate, the other behind her, tendrils of black water running from her arm to the floor of the tunnel and then outward in all directions, bracing her. Currents gathered from all ways crashed together around her black body, pushing upwards on the giant, holding it up. Her open palm touched the great slab of metal, and black tendrils spread across its surface like ivy, giving her hold.

Pushing her body, clad in the power of her master as it was, to breaking, Enly’air threw the giant over her head, slamming it against the wall of the tunnel upside down, its head now in front of her, feet knocking loose rock from the tunnel’s ceiling. The black ivy coated the intruder’s breastplate, and it continued growing, attaching to the wall as well, holding the giant there. It was as if an immense tree of the darkest black grew from Enly’air’s shoulder, pinning the giant where it was.

Without warning, the tunnel wall rippled, and six immense ribs of dark stone emerged from around the giant, curving outwards and then back inwards. The ribs pushed unheedingly through the black threads that choked the water, only finding resistance at the giant’s immense armor. They continued to push until the metal gave, tiny cracks looking like a spider’s work covering the surface of the armor.

Enly’air felt the pressure on her mind return, this time stronger than before as Xir’ain took over her body to use. The black-clad figure, so obviously feminine in shape, gained another layer of black water over it, filling in to closely match Xir’ain’s more masculine silhouette. The black eyes ignited into hearths of golden light, an image of Xir’ain’s own containing none of the deepness those held.

“Creature, you spoke earlier,” he said, forming a shape out of the black water with a wave of his hand. “If you have any intelligence to speak of, I recommend you do so now.” He wrapped the black shape around the creature’s head once, twice, three times, covering a different eye with each wrapping. “And I recommend you do so quickly.”

The Xir’ain fakery motioned with his hand, and a handful of black runners swam from farther down the tunnel. The giant wouldn’t be able to see them, but he would be able to feel them as their tails began hacking its body apart wherever its armor left its putrid flesh exposed. The runners wouldn’t bite. The loss of one of their own had shown them how to avoid the giant’s poison. They would avoid where the currents caused the blood to gather and make quick passes to cut its flesh. The runners were not like the eels; the runners learned from their mistakes.

Aeternam stepped forward, the spokesman of the three. “To remind you of your destiny.”
“My destiny is here. To provide a shelter for the wounded, the sick, the deathly, to sustain life and grow strong again.” Her rough hands now both clasped the staff.
“A staging ground for empire, to spread the sickness, to fester the wounds, to hold off death by corrupting life and serve your own ends,” He retorted boldly, drawing gasps and snarls from the assembled denizens. “You are not so different from us in that regard.”
The woman loomed forward, revealing both hostility and interest. She did not seem to mind being challenged. “And who are you?”
“The nullifier of civilization, the herald of despair, the kindling of vengeance. We number only three now, but seven of us exist. Four brothers and three sisters. You may not remember; you may have chosen to forgot. A holy being may have kept you from knowing who you are, but he has not destroyed who you are. Look within yourself, around you. You are no philanthropist. You are no Dungeon Keeper. You are, have always been, and will forever be, Pestilence itself. Will you join your kin, or will you be content to remain in a mudhole in the middle of nowhere and perform witchery for the sake of your swamp rats?”

The afflicted people, rising steadily in anger throughout Aeternam's speech, finally found it could stomach his words no longer, whether for the sake of the pride of Malady or the aura of Eris. Like animals that scurried out from the shadows and shelters to attack. In seconds the trio was surrounded. Over the furious din, however, came the call of the witch. “Prove the truth of your words.”

In response, Aeternam drew his cane saber with remarkable speed and, in one blow, decapitated the nearest blighted man. His next stroke, too quick for the victim to react, slit the throat of a second. The black metal absorbed the blood of the contorted people upon contact; the humid air was filled with a deep, metallic sigh from the weapon itself. Crimson energies swirled around Aeternam, and for an instant there was the visage of a warlord, easily ten feet tall, with armor gleaming in the shantytown's sulfurous light.

The next instant, the image was gone. With the blade sheathed once more, Aeternam stood still, old and wrinkled as ever, amid the raging, howling swamp people. Three of them rushed at him at once, one with a nicked, rusty cleaver and the others with crude clubs. Eris and Moros instinctively moved in to protect their leader. One blighted human fell, stunned, by the woman's blow to his temple; the other stood transfixed in the grip of Moros, life force fading fast. The third leaped over his disabled comrades, club descending upon Aeternam's head. A blade sprouting from his chest, however, caused his weapon to drop from his nerveless hand. Out of nowhere, the woman called Malady was behind him, only a few feet away from the trio, gripping the spear lodged in the blighted man's torso.

Awed and terrified, the other swamp denizens did nothing but stare. Malady removed the blade from the wretched corpse proceeded to use it to pry the huge cow skull from her head. It fell with a thick splash into the stagnant water, exposing a face equal parts beauty and horror. Ritualistic lines were carved into the tattooed skin, and pitch-black eyes gave her a haunting look. As the trio watched, an oily black fluid leaked from them, and the blighted people in the area were all afflicted. Their own eyes turned black and wept oily blood, and one by one they fell, choking, to the murky ground. Eris, Moros, and Aeternam, however, were unharmed. It seemed the witch had made her choice. “Give me a few minutes to prepare. I must reabsorb the essence from my makeshift Heart into myself to be able to move freely once again.”

Balon could do little save roar in defiance as he suddenly was stopped in his fall, swept up, promptly wedges and crushed between some rocks in the ceiling of the tunnel, and then left as a feast for the strange eel creatures. The pressure of the rocks was cracking his huge suit of bronze armor, and was enough to make breathing nearly impossible. Fortunately, Balon was not unlike Xir'ain in that breathing was unnecessary. Balon's armor was soon reduced to little more than chunks of scrap metal as the runners tore at it, much to the giant's chagrin. It had taken a throng of enslaved blacksmiths, months of time, and wagons laden with ores in order to forge the armor. Replacing it would be nigh impossible, assuming that he even made it out of this hellish abyss alive.

Balon could sense what the runners were doing from the disturbances they left in the water; by using their tails to hack at his body and then quickly darting back, they no doubt hoped to avoid his blood and not be moldered away by the plague. It was no matter, the old king would at least avenge himself against those worms, if not the sea-witch and the oily, black fluid that seemed to control her. Using his tremendous strength to squirm between the rocks, Balon was able to free a single arm before the slabs of stone adjusted themselves. The stones tightened even more than before as punishment, but the giant paid that little heed.

His thrashing driving the runners into even more of a frenzy, they all drew close. Balon moved his arm in a swirling motion, grimacing in pain as the creatures lashed out at it. He then muttered a few words, not at the instruction of whatever wretched thing had trapped him, but as part of a repugnant spell. The runners would have a brief second of warning, as the water in the tunnel suddenly had a revolting taste. Then, vile fluids swirled outwards from the giant's hand and began to diffuse outward.

Balon had expected his magic to have converted the entire tunnel in a river of plague-infested water, but something resisted him. It was with great difficulty that Balon managed to wrap the plague around his own body and stave off the runners, since the very water itself seemed to oppose his will. This dark abyss was undeniably the domain of another, completely subject to its whims, as evidenced by the rocks that trapped Balon. The giant's bones were now beginning to feel the strain of the pressure. Infuriated at how for once, he couldn't simply smash his way through and overpower a tiny enemy, Balon thundered, "RELEASE ME!"

The giant had half a thought to try using his magic to summon a water current to pick up his dropped spear and drive it through the sea witch, but Enly'air was now motionless. With all three of his eyes blinded, Balon couldn't tell where the inky monster or the female had gone, and flying his spear around would be worthless. So he focused his energy on struggling to maintain the plague that staved off the runners. What serendipity- escaping from one black chasm under the sea, only to wind up in a different one, this time full of ravenous monsters and some dignified blob of waste that demanded Balon show his 'intelligence'.