Macaroth came from his seclusion among his people once again, he came from the chapel easily pushing the doors open, there was something new about him however. Two marvelous silver wings sprouted from his back, they were feathered but the feathers were metal yet still as pliant as real feathers but razor sharp to the touch as a few people who attempted to touch his wings witnessed firsthand. He smiled and had their wounds cured by his touch, their blood fed him as he absorbed it.

His Man-at-Arms were gathered before him, uniform in partial plate armors, some wielding crossbows, others halberds and others swords and shields. They saluted him by pulling their weapons to their chest and standing at attention, upon their heads were ornate plumed hats and the clothes under their armors were tailored to the best of the woman capabilities colored in burning orange and white. The zeal of his people impressed him somewhat, this was an army of about four hundred that almost looked too fine to march into combat.

He spoke to his people who stopped what they were doing to listen "Good people of Akrassa, you continue to gather seeking my guidance and protection, my wisdom brought back with my rebirth. Fear has gripped your hearts and eats at your very souls, but fear not my brethren, my children for soon we will march to purge the corruption that has settled into the kingdoms since last i walked among the people and fought to secure their freedom, we will bring about a new order and destroy or convert those who would oppose us!" He spread his wings ten feet in every direction and took to the air as the people cheered, he flew around the chapel and landed again at the entrance and picked out forty men from the ranks and took them inside to give them rebirth into the ranks of His Sons.

Status:
Dungeon: Keep named Akrassa constructed around a chapel in the woods.
Resources: Lumber taken from the surrounding woods, food gathered by hunting and brought by converts, materials for weapons mined in the mining town in the foothills of the nearby mountains.
Forces: 10 imps, 6 monks, several hundred human workers. approximately 400 Man-at-Arms and soon to be 50 angels
Construct: Iron Maiden
Rogue Being: N/A

Lord Rain looked at the new Construct. It was a lifeless humanoid body made of clouds, covered in shining, steel armor. Its lifeless eyes had a pale white glow with a hint of purple in it. Really, all it needed was a bit of life and it would be one of his most powerful creations that he had made. He put his hand to the lifeless Construct's chest, and transferred a bit of his own essence into the Construct.

The Construct looked up at Lord Rain, and got up. It looked around, and saw his master, Lord Rain. He seemed deep in thought, so the Construct decided to wait until his master was ready to speak.
"Your name shall be... Shock. Yes, Shock sounds good." Lord Rain said. "Shock, we're invading a small town and taking it over as a human slave camp. We need to not get too noticed and make sure word doesn't get out, so we don't get invaded by bigger towns. What I need you to do is lead a scout party of 25 Stormers, and scout out any areas around the town." Shock simply nodded his head and ran off to gather 25 Stormers.

It was at just a couple hours before sunset when the scout party arrived near the town. The town was enclosed in stone walls, and had a decent amount of population. No, a decent amount of slaves waiting to have an owner. Shock led the team closer to the walls, and split the team up to look for weak spots and openings in the walls. It was about an hour later when they had decided on where the best points of entry were.

On the corners of the walls were stone guard towers. The inside was hollow, and the only thing that kept invaders from flooding into the towers was a single layer of stone bricks. However, the walls had 4 layers of stone bricks to keep invaders out. Shock marked each guard tower by scraping a white line onto where to break in with a nearby rock. Then, he and the scout party went back to the Dungeon. Meanwhile, at the Dungeon...

The battle cries of Stormers and Bolters as they slashed and stabbed at each other with the newly made wooden training swords and spears rang through the halls of the Dungeon/Castle. Elsewhere in the castle, 10 imps worked part of the forge, making steel swords and spears enchanted with storm magic by Lord Rain himself. Production was going well, as they already had produced 30 swords and 20 spears, enough to support the Bolters in battle. Another 10 imps were working on reinforcing the castle walls, in case a big city attempted to invade them. Five more imps worked on making bows and arrows for the army. Each arrow was also enchanted by Lord Rain to shock the enemy that was hit by one. All they needed to do was make 25 of these bows, with 25 arrows per bow. The last five imps were making sets of armor for the Bolters. The armor was just basic steel armor, not like the construct Shock had.

It was an hour after the scout party had left the town when they finally arrived at the Dungeon. Shock told Lord Rain the news, and the two began to devise a plan on how to take the town.



Forces: 30 imps, 100 Stormers, 50 Bolters
Constructs/Rogue Beings: Shock (Stormer Construct)
Resources: Several bags of iron and steel tools, and food for the army, 30 enchanted steel swords, 20 enchanted steel spears, 25 bows with 25 arrows each, 50 sets of basic steel armor, 50 sets of wooden training gear, along with some stone, dirt, and a whole lot of clouds.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the flying-castle-dungeon itself, a Lair, a Hatchery, a Portal, reinforced stone walls, and a Forge.

Kalok stood in the summoning chamber and raised his hand into the air, calling forth a small portal through which five more imps hopped, cheering as they saw their master. Then Kalok watched as his new orcs were created. When born, they would know nothing but his domination, his power... They would know nothing but war. There would be no 'good' Orcs, for all they would know is 'evil'. The four new Orcs peered around the dark chamber, then their eyes fell to rest on Kalok. They approached him slowly and as they did Kalok turned and went to the forge. The Orcs followed behind, their first dull steps through the world, the small group came to a halt in the Forge, where the first Orc had been working, Kalok spoke up
"Orc, have you finished the Equipment." The Orc slowly rose up, holding a new blade, and gave a small nod to Kalok as he gestured with it to a table line of equipment. He passed the new blade to Kalok who examined it. It was crude looking and certainly ugly, with it's dull metal colour and odd design. Half of it was serrated with a larger spike protruding from the top, while the other side was merely a sharpened smooth edged blade. The guard was two spikes, clearly designed to double as a weapon if needed, and the pommel was a simple sphere which was certainly heavy, almost as though it was designed for usage on someones head. It had a brutal simplicity to it, and at first Kalok felt disappointed as he handed it back to the Orc, who turned to the practice dummy, and approached it, before swinging the swords smooth edge... and to Kaloks surprise it cut through the dummy like it was nothing. The head of the dummy fell to the floor, the tightly packed sand spilling out from within. Turning the blade to it's serrated edge, he swung it again at the dummy's chest and as it impacted, it travelled partway through the target before stopping. The Orc gave it a tough yank and pulled it to the side, the single blade that came from the top slicing through the remainder of the dummy and thus splitting the target in two. Kalok shrugged, maybe it would have a harder time against the humans.
He merely nodded, and the five Orcs moved across to the table, donning their armour and their weapons, the crude Orcish swords and bows giving a somewhat deceptive image of them being a poor fighting force. The shield was a similar crude weapon, made of the same dull metal with two spikes coming from the bottom which appeared to be designed to allow the shield to become a stabbing weapon, and a series of small spikes coming off the shield pointing forwards that appeared to have been soldered on afterwards and designed for a deadly shield bash. Kalok took a step forwards, speaking as they suited up "In the shadow of this volcano lies a small village of just over 50 humans. I need some of them alive to work the fields... You are to kill the old and weak, but the young and fit must survive, including the children. They are mostly unarmoured... and if you cannot handle some angry farmers then what did I create you for? Go prove your worth!" The Orcs let out a roar of agreement, then turned and charged out of the forge, all following the 'First Orc', the only one right now who actually knew his way around the caverns...

The sun was setting over the volcano behind them and Kia was sitting on the bench over looking the sea with her young grandson, Arn. She spoke to him and he clung on her every word, as she told him the wondrous stories of pirates and soldiers and treasure and great monsters that she told him so often and yet he never grew tired of. Little did the two realise the monsters were closer than they knew. Kia finished the story and slowly began to stand as the wide eyed Arn looked out over the dazzling sea as the moon drifted into view
"I'm going to catch pirates one day, Captain Black wouldn't get away from me Grandma!" Arn said as he looked up to Kia "I'm not afraid of his monster." Kia chuckled slightly
"I dare say you will, but all good pirate catchers get to bed on time..." She said as she turned to walk away, moving slowly along the ground. Arn stood his ground
"No they don't. All good pirate catchers stay awake all night to watch for the pirates." He whined, in a similar fashion he did every night, Kia turned her head back to him
"But if the pirate catchers stay awake all night, they'll be too tired to catch the pirates" She gestured for him to come "Come on now, before your mother gets worried" She said, turning her body to face him and folding her arms. But at the moonlight caught the boys face, she could see he was staring with wide, fearful eyes and a face as white as wool.
"G...Grandma... there's a monster..." He stuttered slowly, and Kia paused, for the first time her old ears picking up a heavy breathing behind her. She turned her head slowly, until she came face to face with the hideous face of the First Orc. Her eyes went wide and she froze on the spot as the Orc let out a deafening roar, before raising it's sword into the air and bringing it down, cleaving her head from her shoulders. Arn let out a scream and rushed past the Orc towards the village, screaming
"Monster! Monster!" As he went, but came to a sickening sight in the village. Villagers screamed as they ran around, some trying to fight but being quickly cut down by the superior Orcs. Arn turned to run but saw the First Orc bolting up behind him, and thus turned and ran deeper into the village. The First Orc was faster than him, and was upon him within seconds, but the monster didn't attack him, merely followed behind him, roaring and brandishing it's sword. Slowly, all the villagers were herded into the center, the remaining 35 of them. Kalok himself came down from the mountain now, hobbling into the village and looking around the villagers scared faces, before smiling and offering his proposition, essentially enslaving them... With no other choice but death, they accepted his offer.
And with that Kalok had farmland to feed his armies with and the human slaves to work it. There was another village on the island, larger than this and with a port... but also better defended. He would spawn more Imps and Orcs before attempting to steal that one. After a quick exchange with the Orcs and villagers, he turned and proceeded back to the dormant volcano, descending into the darkness once more and finding his way back through to the heart

Ifrit succumbed to Shaige's will, as the Keeper knew he would. There was no shame in doing so; soon enough everything else would be faced with the same dilemma- serve Shaige, or die. Shaige abandoned his black staff and robes, blowing them to the side with a spectral wind. In the realm of the living the apparel and staff would have faded out of existence like any other shadows that came into the light, but here they behaved just like anything else. After all, this was a world of little save bone and shadow.

In his pure, true form without any guise or illusions, Shaige took on a roughly humanoid shape. His body was a featureless mass of swirling, amethyst light, the same color as the eyes that had peered out from the Shadow's hood. Without offering any explanation to Ifrit, the Keeper tore out a piece of himself, which coalesced in the form of a flawless, prismatic crystal. Shaige felt naked and vulnerable in this form, so he wasted no time. With the wave of a hand pillars of shadow rose from the ground on either side of Ifrit's skull.

The pillars then bent, wrapping around the head of dazed Ifrit. They wrapped quickly and forcefully, overcoming any resistance, and then melded together to form a giant muzzle of sorts. The Infernal King's mighty scion would be helpless to fight back or escape as Shaige embedded his crystallized essence right into the beast's forehead. Instantly Ifrit was wreathed in more than just fire and smoke; wailing souls were pulled into the gem, the bones of nearby skeletons cracked open as liquid blood burst out from their marrow and squirted through the air towards the gem, and the darkness itself reached out towards Ifrit. Shadow, smoke, blood, and soul came together to fuel Shaige's black magic. The cracks in Ifrit's body vanished, and his bones hardened. Perhaps more changes would occur if the beast was unable to prevent Shaige's essence from taking over too much of his body, but the Keeper's attention was now diverted.

Shaige sensed a spirit approaching. It was not a mere poltergeist, or even the starved revenant that he had seen before stifling Ifrit's light with a shroud of darkness. This was a powerful and old spirit, perhaps also that of a Keeper. Shaige quickly assumed a different, less revealing form. The arrival, upon passing through the barrier of darkness, would see Ifrit still being wracked by dark magic. Next to the great beast was a spirit that took the form of a floating, hooded violet shawl, wrapped with a stole and sash the color of blood. The duo would indeed be a strange sight, for such a dreary place as the spirit realm.

Keenly aware that revealing any information to a wraith was dangerous, Shaige endeavored to answer any questions with naught but riddles and lies. Suspecting that the other spirit was ancient, the Keeper would address it as soon as it arrived, "Erelong we depart. 'Twas wanion we shan't be able to speak."

The dead had all the time in the world, quite literally. For Shaige to attempt to leave without so much as a few words would be odd indeed, but the Keeper knew better than to risk treating with a wraith if avoidable, especially under such circumstances. Shaige intended to make an escape as soon as Ifrit's transformation was complete.

Release me? Was that all the creature thought of now? Disappointment. But now the question was, would he?

“No.”

Above the ribcage of stone that held the giant fast, the rocks of the ceiling shifted together and apart into the shape of a great skull. The stone jaws closed around the giant’s leg, ripping it free from its owner. The stone skull disappeared as the stones shifted back into their original places.

The image of Xir’ain waved the runners away, and then dissolved the blindfold from the giant’s head. The black construct said nothing, its demands unchanged. It just stood in the lightless abyss, golden eyes staring into putrefied ones, awaiting an answer. The giant still had three good limbs, but Xir’ain doubted he would be able to take all of them. For one, even a creature as big as this giant only has so much blood, and second, he could already feel Enly’air’s anxiety over having her body outside of her control rising.

Awe filled Ifrits eyes as he stared at the shining figure of his true form. The candor in his eyes melted away like butter above a flame as pain racked his body, replaced with betrayal. Ifrit had felt true pain like this on a mere two occasions before- when he had been shackled and chained in the catacombs, and when he was felled by the people of Paterdomus. However, Ifrits rage lessened once more as the pain resided, and his body was healed. Almost as if the memories were erased, as Ifrit forgot his previous dog-like loyalty to The Infernal King, now swearing his allegiance to Shaige.

As the charred bone snapped back into place, muscle and blood began to form around it, drawing from the spirits around. As Ifrit once more flexed his powerful muscles, he felt chills run through the rippling flesh- not something he was used to. As pure white skin slid over the red muscle, Ifrit looked down, confused at the sight. Was this what he had looked like before? Without enough time to process the thought, his fire raged out from the pores, charring the shining skin. Though it stung momentarily, the fires quickly sputtered out, as the transformation completed.

No longer a beast of bones, Ifrit's body rippled with large muscles. His skin took on a glassy look, like so many shards of obsidian. Though he no longer bristled with the flames he once did, smoke still flooded out from the cracks in his crystalline skin. The once fiery eyes were sunken deep, peering out through the smoke. A faint ember of amethyst light shone out through them, reflecting the magics Shaige had imbued in him. "What happens now, Master?" He asked simply, as the massive body slowly raised up, until he was standing tall and proud, ivory claws flexing.

Being inside the Compound of Eyes was like looking out through another being's perspective, except in this case, rather than a single image there were hundreds. The surface of the 'screens' resembled mirrors, but rather than silver protected by glass there were millions and millions of pigment cells glazed over by a transparent membrane, such as that found in an insect's wing. Attempting to focus one more than one was a dizzying prospect; there was so much constant movement that a broad view of the screens was not unlike a wild hallucination. Scutra and Baudrii had been kept waiting in this chamber for ten minutes now after being summoned by Clotho, and in that time they had been able to become acquainted with the experience of scrying. At least, Baudrii had; Scutra constantly fretted and twitched, uneasy and unable to stand still.

At last, the Swarm Keeper entered. She looked upon her two subordinates with masked distaste. Hardly the lieutenants of an invading army. Luckily, compensating for her lack of forces formed a substantial part of her plan. “Construct and Adjunct,” she began, pacing to stand between them and the chamber's anterior. “It is time we made our mark on the world, our first real conquest. Most conquerors would understandably start out small, raiding little villages and hamlets and the like before attempting to overrun the nearest city.” She crossed her arms. “I am not most conquerors. Even if my ambition were less, there are no smaller settlements to be had in this environment. For survival in the jungle, the humans of this region established a single bastion that swelled to vast proportions over the years. It is Virens of which I speak. Before ascending to my current state I lived there, and you were once one of them, Baudrii. We know the city well, but it is current surveillance that will give us the edge.”

Abruptly, she spun around, wings now facing her underlings. Before her stretched the wall of hexagonal screens, each relaying the field of vision of a single Macula. Roughly half of them were of her own Dungeon, but the other half were scattered throughout Virens. They perched on streetlights, awnings, and rooftops, hid beneath eaves and benches and in lumber piles, and generally infiltrated all of it. “Our first step to capturing Virens is the elimination of its supply lines. While in the city last night I obtained some information. At noon today a barge is scheduled to bring in a shipment of grain and other commodities from the plains to the north.” Her yellow gaze hardened on her imp construct. “Scutra, this is your chance to prove yourself as anything more than a bug-eyed brewer. Lead a party of imps to the Saploya river and have them barricade it with their webbing. Once it has gotten snared or otherwise stopped, you will board it with a squadron of Myrmidons, kill any aggressors, capture whoever is left, loot anything of value, then scuttle the boat. Understood?”

Though the imp construct deep both resentment toward his mistress and her new Adjunct, so much stronger and more capable than he merely by nature, his desire to please her won out. “Yes, mistress. I will depart immediately.” Suddenly filled with energy, he kept his word and barged out of the Compound of Eyes without hesitation. Earnestness was good—there was no time to lose. Still, Clotho suspected he would ultimately fail in his leadership role, and rather than lead the charge he could very well simply stand out of harm's way. She wasn't ignorant to his emotions, either; though cunning and savage like all imps, he was also treacherous and untrustworthy by nature. Once Scutra was out of earshot, she addressed Baudrii, who had been standing still and silent the whole time, a vast, gleaming paladin of chitin. “In the meantime I will send Antlions beneath Virens to undermine its structures, which I will then oversee. For this I do not need you, so I am sending you after Scutra's party. Should the whole operation go wrong, you are to intercede and destroy the boat. Then, kill Scutra. Flight should give you the drop on them both.” A razor-toothed grin flashed in the faint light cast from the screens. “I've grown bored of him. I can always appoint another brewmaster, one without the cowardice and weakness of imps. Maybe another human. After all, you turned out well. Take a Macula with you so I can see it all. Now get lost.”

A few minutes later, Clotho stood alone in front of a pit in the ground surrounding the King Tree. The area was totally shaded; before today, the sunlight penetrated the leaves of the great tree and dappled the earth below. Now, the dungeon's construction was nearly complete, and the tree was almost totally enveloped in it. Though the grand, elevated hive was glorious to behold, Clotho's current interest lay with the creatures that lived beneath the ground. With a keening cry she summoned the Antlions from their expansive underground tunnels. They now numbered almost two dozen, and more were spawning quickly thanks to her growth serum. She issued their orders and watched them go, moving slowly but unstoppably over the leaf litter like living tanks. Before long they would resort to tunneling beneath the surface rather than attempting to navigate the dense jungle above I, and in doing so would approach Virens undetected.

Afterward, Clotho paid a visit to the lair of the Myrmidons. There she effectively ended their predominant practice of remaining in the nest at the King Tree's base and only emerging when a threat appeared. From now on, they would patrol the entirety of the dungeon like proper soldiers. Until now they had been relying on the roots and tubules of the King Tree for nourishment, but she explained that they would find edible fungi throughout the tree to eat, which the imps had been cultivating in their spare time. With that settled, Clotho returned to the Compound of Eyes.

Macaroth came out of the chapel followed by his latest reborn and his Monks. He had the newborn outfitted and join the patrol effort. He took the monks and decided to go visit the nearby city and see what influence he can gather from the people. A white steed was brought to him and black horses for his monks. The group saddled up and rode out accompanied by a dozen mounted Man-at-Arms wielding sword and shield. It would take them the entirety of the day to ride there but that didn't matter.

Once he arrived at the outlying farms people started noticing him right away, by now rumors of his return had spread through the surrounding lands like wildfire thanks to the works of his monks. The people gathered around him slowly the number swelling to a few hundred who just couldn't believe their eyes. He smiled and politely greeted the gathered townspeople and farmers "Greetings good people, It has been a long time since I have walked these lands. I am happy to find its people thriving yet i sense a darkness upon your weary souls and bodies. I have returned to renew your life" The people just whispered and followed him and his party as he slowly walked toward the main gates of the city, steadily swelling the gathering making the murmurs swell just as much.

At the gates he was confronted by a troop of guards headed by what looked like two high ranking mages from the fire and water factions. Not only were they displeased by what they saw they were obviously threatened, they ordered the guards to surround them only to be met by halberds pointed outwards and men with steely resolve ready to throw down their lives, even the monks pulled short swords from the folds of their robes, the monks and the mages had been feuding for generations but it never did escalate because the monks were peacekeepers first and foremost. The water mage calmed the situation down a bit and looked up at Macaroth "i do not know what sorcery is this but you are not welcome back, a ghost from a distant and forgotten past"
Macaroth smiled and looked down at them with contempt, even if he wasn't who he claimed to be the blatant disrespect for history in general offended him "I have come back to restore this land to its former glory, the once mighty Akrassan people will be reunited under a single banner, they will be respected once more as a force in the world. You and your feeble brethren have turned this land into a place of never ending strife and conflict, where blood flows more than the great rivers that water the land you burn so freely. Your reign of terror and corruption has come to a close, repent your sinning and throw down your power or i swear by all that once was holy and shall be again i will rip your power from your cold dead hands." The fire mage went into a fit and just as he was about to summon his magic Macaroth spread his brilliant wings and left him awestruck long enough to forget what he was doing. He then turned and began the ride back to Akrassa. His challenge was given, the board and the pieces were now set.

Shaige saw Ifrit's transformation in the corner of his eye, though his eyes remained transfixed on the wraith that had just arrived. To turn away and leave one's self exposed to a creature that hungered for souls would have been a poor decision. The Keeper, after giving the spirit time to respond and receiving only silence, answered Ifrit. "Now, We leave this place. I have been away from my domain for far too long."

With a wave of a ghostly hand concealed by his new robe's long sleeves, Ifrit disappeared from the spirit realm. Shaige followed suit a moment later, leaving behind the wraith. The duo would find themselves a thousand feet above the carnage outside of Paterdomus. Down below, people were coming out of the city to search for their relatives amongst the surviving soldiers. As the ash and charred corpses testified, many would not be found.

Though still slightly affected to gravity, Ifrit would find himself mostly pulled upwards and buffeted to the sides, subject to the whims of the slightest eddies of wind. The fact that nobody below looked up in alarm at seeing a massive, floating monster would be Ifrit's first hint as to what had happened. Upon appearing, Shaige was quick to summon up an ethereal link that tethered his mostly incorporeal form to Ifrit's. The beast was no doubt unaccustomed to moving about as a ghost.

Shaige voice resonated inside of Ifrit's mind, "You are halfway back. No longer in the spirit realm, but not entirely in this one either. You are what the ignorant humans call a 'ghost'. In this form we can fly quickly and undetected, back to a safe place. Then, I shall restore your body."

Without further ado, Shaige flew through the air towards his dungeon, faster than any bird. Ifrit would find himself dragged behind by an invisible cord, secured enough to not fall behind much more than a few hundred feet or get blown away by wind, but not so much that he couldn't move around a bit. It would no doubt be an odd sensation, being tugged along by Shaige as he assumed such a small, weightless form.

________________

Balon howled in pain for several moments as his leg was removed, but then suddenly fell silent. The adrenaline removed much of the pain, and his hatred gave him the strength to ignore what remained. "The fool," thought Balon, dares to come so close while one of my arms is still free." The thought struck Balon to wrap his free hand around the tiny torso of the girl hidden beneath the black sludge and golden eyes, and squeeze until her ribs came out of her mouth. He banished the thought. It was be suicide; it was clear that this strange monster had him beat. He would do as it asked, for now.

Balon thought for another long moment. He possessed a talent for killing and conquering, not demonstrating 'intelligence'. What did he know that this...thing didn't? In a sudden motion Balon hand snatched up the corpse of a dead runner, before it floated to the bottom of the tunnel and out of Balon's reach. The thing had been one of the ones tearing at the giant's armor, and had unfortunately come into contact with the plagued water that the old king conjured. At this point, its body more resembled a blackened husk than a creature. Balon's gaze drifted from Xir'ain to the dead runner. As he looked at it, the corpse's flesh somehow began to fester and rot more than it already had.

"Do you see the wretched thing?" Balon at last spoke. "Dead. Its mind, muscles, and organs all reduced to rot. Food hardly fit for maggots. I didn't do that. Countless tiny creatures did. Creatures so small that you can't even see them. They infest the bodies of the living and cause disease. Then they infest the bodies of the dead and have a feast, reducing it to dirt and rot. I have discovered how to manipulate these miniscule beings with magic, and use them to slay other creatures within seconds."

His two blind eyes met Xir'ain's golden ones with an unnerving stare, while the living one atop his forehead constantly flitted its gaze between the two. "Do you know what this means?" Balon asked. "Let me live, and I could conjure a plague the likes of which you have never seen."

"I could reduce your enemies to this," Balon said as he brandished the dead runner, his voice growing in volume.

When addressed by Shaige, the unusual revenant remained silent and motionless but for a slight stir of its frayed raiment in the ethereal breeze. It simply watched and listened, both to the ghostly Keeper and the transformation of Ifrit. After Shaige had spoken, however, the specter dissolved into black particles, as if the attention momentarily given to it had been all that sustained its existence. The wraith wasn't gone, however; it had simply reduced itself to a form both non-corporeal and practically invisible, and in this form it approached the two intruders into the spirit world. All magic the revenant possessed went toward making itself as inconspicuous as possible, constantly adjusting to every new thing it encountered in order to remain undetected. Ultimately, this also meant that when Shaige waved a hand to pull himself and his new Construct back into the overworld, the revenant hitched a ride.

Entry back into the real world was both disorienting and painful. By the time the revenant had adjusted itself to the air, the light, the omnipresence of magic, and other such intricacies, Shaige and Ifrit were long gone. No clue remained to hint at which direction they had taken. This didn't phase the ghost, however, as the Keeper had no real use for it now that he had released it from the spirit world. Though the revenant had far more power tucked away than Shaige, it was inaccessible, and as was just demonstrated Shaige's magic could influence the wraith with ease, so seeking him out wasn't an option anyway.

Another idol quickly captured the revenant's interest. Far below lay the sanctified city of Paterdomus, and in front of it lay a field of death and chaos. Getting its bearings, the wraith steadily descended toward it, a shadow of intent.

It was not long before the imps had finished the new Death Spire, overlooking the vacant town from behind the walls of the keep. Calvartem scaled the structure and reached the top. From there he could look over most of the town. The buildings were all intact, save for the few which the imps had disassembled for the stone, but they were devoid of people, making it seem like a ghost town. However, anyone on the streets would see a much more morbid picture, with corpses lying on the side of the road and blood staining the streets. The red light of the sun, now setting over the horizon, cast deep red shadows over the township, making the place seem even more foreboding. Calvartem turned to the hunk of quartz which had been carved and placed as the centrepiece of the tower and imparted some energy into it, enchanting the gemstone with his dark aura.

He descended the tower and, finished with them, he dispelled his imps. The city was almost empty. There remained rats, which were starting to come out and nibble on the corpses of the dead, but the Spire would soon drain the life from those too and then the town will be devoid of all which is living. Calvartem mounted onto Shadowmane and together they galloped out of the deserted town across the darkening hillsides.

After no more than a couple of hours of travelling Calvartem had made it back to his Dungeon. From the looks of things nothing out of the ordinary had happened. He left Shadowmane outside the entrance to the crypt, walked inside and sealed the door behind him. He walked down the corridor through the darkness and sat down on his throne, where he released his spirit into his surroundings and began to take a corpse to shape and mould into a new minion. His Walkers are quite capable of slaughtering disorganised masses, and do well as the backbone of his hoards, but they are slow and weak and clumsy. They could easily be bested by a strong defensive formation of troops or even something as simple as a sturdy wall. Something stronger, faster and more agile would be needed to break apart the enemy lines in future battles.

0/5, Second minion.

Macaroth rode back to Akrassa, followed by several dozen of the farmers that saw him now with their own eyes, they gathered their belongings and their families and just left the field with no regard, placing their futures entirely in the hands of their saint. It was a heavy burden, taking care of these people and their faith in particular, he has to pretend to be a saint, well it was not all bad. The adoration one gets when being good is different than when he is worshiped as an overlord, the loyalty and admiration is real and sincere.

He shook his head of such thoughts and focused on his next move, the mages will no doubt want to nip this in the bud as fast as possible so he had to make a plan for when their attack would come, inevitably ruthless and hard. He rode into the keep that now stood where once there was naught but a chapel and garden. The gate opened smoothly and he followed a road up to his chapel that was his heart and dismounted, entered and started to plot his defense and then his counter attack.

Kalok exited from the Heart and surveyed the tunnels as he strode through them, counting the numbers. The Orcs had indeed been brought up to an army, and there was now 30 of them. Hardly what you would call a massive army, but adequate for the purpose required. He ordered that they assemble outside, and like any loyal minions they did, clad in their ugly but effective battle armour and wielding weapons that the local villagers had learnt to fear. There was another village on this island, with a port which he could use to launch his conquest of the isles. Ships would be an important tool given his defensive boon of being on an island. Kalok yelled, drawing a sword of his own and holding it into the air
"Follow me to glory!" He called to them, and lead a charge through the thick forest and undergrowth, batting anything in his path aside as the Orcs followed in his footsteps, keeping pace with him despite his unnatural speed. They were certainly quick, that was for sure.

They came to the village at dawn, taking the plaza by storm. With swordsmen and bowmen and Kaloks magic, they smashed through the palisade walls. The village warriors were flying and dying and crying as the Orcs brutally murdered them in cold blood. The village leader, an old and veteran warrior, took up his blade once more and came to charge Kalok head on, raising it into the air and attempting to decapitate him... but as he did the blade flew from his hand, and then he lifted off the ground before smashing into it... again... and again... and again. Kalok finally raised his hand into the air and slammed him into the floor one final time, and the warrior exploded into blood and bones and guts.
And with that display of Kaloks magical ability, the villagers routed. How could they fight against such power? They made for the docks in the hopes they could cast off in a boat, but when they arrived they found that the towns cowardly merchant had left them for dead, fleeing aboard his boat with his crew. But Kalok was not going to let his free boat escape his grasp, with a yell and a point of his sword, a group of Imps flew overhead towards the boat, and they landed upon it, engaging the pitiful crew and destroying them before turning the boat back towards the port. As they did, two of the Imps carried back the merchant, who yelled and screamed. Oh the curses he spat at them...
They dropped him before Kalok, who approached him with his sword, placing it to his throat and turning his head towards the villagers, who were now trapped at the docks with the option of either launching into the waters and risking a watery grave, or surrendering and risking being sliced and diced.
"This man would have left you all for dead! The coward!" He yelled, and then turned his head to the Orcs "He's a waste of resources, a waste of space" He turned his head back towards the crowd "You want to know what to do with him?" He tossed the man to the side, into the grasp of the Orcs "Have some meat." He spat, and the merchant looked around in fear as the Orcs set upon him, tearing his flesh from his body and laughing as they consumed him. Kalok approached the crowd "You will all serve me now, either as a servant... or as food for my marching armies!"

((Incoming Great Text Wall of China!))

Lord Rain's current form was very weak. It was just a somewhat muscular human wearing an old, torn up formal white outfit with a partially-destroyed golden mask. He had forgotten where he had even gotten the things, and he was fairly certain they made him look like a pushover. He was going to be the warlord of a village, but how could he even scare people in his current form? The looks were half the part of being an evil, intimidating, feared warlord! Therefore, he would change his current form from his humanoid form into something much more evil, and much more intimidating. He would no longer look weak, he would instead look like he should be feared! He would live up to his name, and show why he was a Lord.

Lord Rain gave his orders to his Construct. Make sure production runs smoothly, keep the soldiers in line, and oversee the imps building up the defenses. After all, ripping huge chunks of land and moving them into the sky along with huge lightning bolts will probably attract some attention to them. Attention that they neither wanted, nor needed. And to top it all off, attention that they would get soon.

---

It was around mid-day. A group of Humans, in suits of shiny white and gold colored armor, sat in cover behind the edge of a crater. Nearly just above them floated a sprawling flying castle. The only way up was a staircase. It would be pretty hard to take the loot from this castle, as they all had figured out the castle was probably protected by a wizard. They were wrong, very wrong indeed.

The group of men in armor walked up the staircase as silently yet quickly as they could. About 2 minutes later of walking, they reached the top. It was the entrance to the castle, surrounded in reinforced walls made of a stone-like material. A few of the men walked up to the walls, looking for a way to get in. What they didn't know was that a Keeper was inside this castle, watching them, waiting for them to make a move. They began banging on the large wooden door, which seemed sealed by some force, which was actually the Keeper keeping it closed. They began demanding entry, and suddenly, the doors swung open. A few of the men stumbled because the sudden opening had caught them off guard.

As soon as the group entered the castle, they encountered a strange sight. Over a hundred humanoid beasts, composed of clouds and lightning, were fighting and training. The men thought these beasts would be no match for them, but they were very wrong, as usual. Instead, they would have a fun time dodging bolts of lightning raining down from some place above them and a bunch of swords and spears. That would happen later, though.

"Where is your leader? We are taking this castle by force!" announced a man with much more regal armor than the others, presumably the leader of the group. Suddenly, a voice rang out through the halls. It was deep, and powerful, the essence of the Keeper and the Heart itself.

"Right here. Or not. I'm the walls. I'm the ceiling. I am the castle." said the voice. The group looked around, stunned, and the leader spoke again.

"I am Count Swadia, and I command you to tell me who your leader is! Stop playing little jokes! We are taking this castle by force along with all of your wealth!" said the leader of the group of humans. Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck down in front of them. The creatures also turned towards them, and rushed to the Armory to grab their weapons. A man in grey-ish white armor ran towards a door, and sliced it open, revealing nothing but an empty room. The rest of the men began splitting up, looking for the Treasury, leaving the Count alone.

"I shall give you one warning, leave my castle or feel the wrath of a true Keeper," the voice said. The Count simply gave a small laugh, obviously a bit nervous, and attempted to regain his composure.

"I shall not leave, because I am taking your castle by force!" the Count said. Suddenly, a few lightning bolts struck down in front of him, and he flew back. In the distance, the sound of a man screaming could be heard in the room that was the Armory.

Meanwhile, at the Armory...
A man walked up to a rather large door. He slowly opened it, sword in hand. He heard a dark, evil voice presumably briefing a group of soldiers on a mission. He tried not to be seen, and listened closer.

"...mission is to kill..." "human in the castle"

The man held his sword tightly, and walked into full view. Like an idiot, the man charged at the first group of soldiers he saw. He was instantly impaled through the pelvis, and the spear was twisted and ripped out of him. The man fell back, in extreme pain, screamed, and then was knocked out. He would make a good victim for an upcoming torture room.

Back in the main hall...

The Count got up, dazed. He whistled, and all of his men rushed into the main hall. Suddenly, a small army of about 25 cloud-like humanoids and 10 skeletons made of lightning filled up the room. The front line was armed with spears and shields, and the back line had their shields up covering themselves and the front row's head. They were armed with swords in case the defense was broken. They had created a wall that was impenetrable, spanning the width of the main hall.

The Count and his men charged, and ran into the wall, attempting to break it. A few men were impaled, and another couple had received a few light injuries. Blood was everywhere, and the sounds of swords hitting shields rang through the main hall. Finally, only about five men were left out of the original 15, and they retreated back. What they didn't realize that a whole row of the humanoid beasts that were made of clouds had moved in behind the main defense, all armed with bows. They took aim, and fired a rain of arrows. The swordsmen defending the top realized this was their cue and began raining small lightning bolts upon their enemy. Three men had died from getting hit by the arrows, and one was shocked to death. Another was subdued and had blacked out, leaving the Count as the only one standing.

"I wish to duel with your leader." the Count said, not realizing the leader was actually unavailable. Then, the wall parted, revealing one of the humanoid cloud beasts, except covered head-to-toe in steel armor that coursed with electricity. He held a steel sword in his hand, and spun it around with a generation's worth of skill, despite the fact he had only been alive for about a week.

"I guess you wish to die, then." the 'leader' said. "I bet you want to know the name of the thing that will kill you, so I shall tell you mine. I am Shock." He stopped spinning his sword around and got into his normal sword fighting stance. The Count did the same, and the fight began.

The wall of soldiers cheered Shock on as the duel continued. Parry after parry and dodge after dodge were made. It seemed as if both opponents were equally skilled. Suddenly, Shock hit the hilt of the Count's blade, disarming the Count. He then raised his own sword to the Count's neck.

"Do you surrender?" Shock asked.

"I fight to the death." the Count replied. He then jumped to the left, and attempted to punch Shock. He simply dodged the punch, and put his blade up. He then roundhouse kicked the Count in the side, with the power stronger than that of a normal human's. He then launched himself at the count, and began punching. By the time it was over, the Count's nose was broken beyond repair. He then roundhouse kicked the Count in the side and then did a side kick into the Count's ribs. A deafening crack was heard as the Count's ribs broke. The Count fell down in pain, and struggled to get up.

"I... fight... to the death" the Count said once again, and swung again. Shock dodged the Count's punch, took out his blade, and decapitated the Count. He took out a small cloth, wiped the blood off his sword, and put it back in its sheathe. He then walked off, ordering his troops to deal with the two prisoners gained.

---

Lord Rain, now undisturbed, began the transformation process. He planned out what his body would look like. He would wear black armor. His helmet would be themed after that of some new word that came to his mind from nowhere: a 'Roman' helmet. A plume of electricity would come out from the top, running vertically across it. Along the sides of the top would be small spikes.

His shoulder armor would be fashioned in the style of a dragon's head, and the eyes would glow blue. He would have black gauntlets that had a skull design on the front of them, and they would go up to his elbows. His chestplate would consist of a black layered chestplate, with the design of a dragon's skull on the front. Its eyes would also glow blue.

His torso armor would be simple layered armor, and the leggings would be chainmail leggings. The boots would be made of layers of black metal and would have a skull at the top of the front of them, at the area below one's knee. On his back would be two axes, with an extra-sharp edge. They would glow with deadly power, electrifying anything they touch except for the Keeper, the Keeper's constructs, and anything the Keeper creates or owns, minus human slaves. The blades would be a dark grey and crescent shape, with a light blue crescent shape on the inside. The handles would be black, in order to go with the rest of his armor. They would be bounded to his hands by attachable chains that come out of the mouth of the skull on the front of his gauntlets, in order to be able to do ranged attacks without using magic.
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Forces: 30 imps, 100 Stormers, 50 Bolters, 2 Captured Humans
Constructs/Rogue Beings: Shock (Stormer Construct)
Resources: Several bags of iron and steel tools, and food for the army, 30 enchanted steel swords, 20 enchanted steel spears, 25 bows with 25 arrows each, 50 sets of basic steel armor, 50 sets of wooden training gear, along with some stone, dirt, and a whole lot of clouds.
Infrastructure: A dungeon heart, the flying-castle-dungeon itself, a Lair, a Hatchery, a Portal, reinforced stone walls, and a Forge.

The officials of Opes Fluvium met in the city hall, situated behind the walls dividing the wealthy district from the rest of the city. Outside those walls people murmured about rumours of a revived saint, but inside those walls the leaders worried. They sat at the top of the chain of command of this city. The poor farmers harvested valuable tropical crops like rice and sugar cane from the fields surrounding the city. The officials would tax these. The farmers would sell what they didn't need for themselves, and the proceeds of that are taxed too. Then the merchants would export those goods from the city along the river, and the leaders would have that taxed as well. All these taxes meant that the leaders lived in prosperity and riches, and this revived 'saint' threatened that.

The Anointed of Caldor and Disciples of Unda were also concerned (although the former more so than the latter). This pagan saint of the Akrassans was a threat to their hold over the city. The Paterdomans held a close alliance to Opes Fluvium. Along with achieving the widespread dominance of their religion, Opes Fluvium was also a source of tithes and served as a good missionary base for the southern half of Elysium. In turn, the people of Opes Fluvium received the skills of the fire and water mages. The native magic of the area is wind magic, which makes the threshing of rice more efficient, but with the help of water magic they can irrigate their fields much better. However, it seems that the people of the region are not quite as loyal as they may have hoped.

In the meeting chamber, the leaders adorned in jewellery and the priests in their robes of red and blue were in agreement. This saint of the Akrassans must be eliminated before he converts the entire city, and measures must be put in place to quell a potential rebellion. They made their plans and parted ways, to prepare the city and army.

A number of officials checked the defences of the city. The outer walls were not very strong, and houses still sprang up outside those walls, but they are meant to serve as more of a boundary than anything. The important part was the inner walls, which were tough and sturdy and capable of withstanding force, especially from a rebellion of the common folk outside those walls. However, they remembered that the 'saint' had wings, which meant he could fly. They contacted the generals to ensure that they had sufficient ranged capabilities to face a flying target. With bows, crossbows, muskets and magic in their arsenal, they assured the leaders that they should be able to handle it.

The priests arranged sermons both in the churches and on the streets to warn the people against the influence of pagan religions. The fire priests warned the citizens that the time was coming soon when the mighty Caldor himself would smite those who worship false gods and those who turn from him, pointing to the red sun as a sign of Caldor's will and also his great might. The water priests reminded the citizens of all the good of the Paterdoman religion, such as the unity it brings and the truths it holds. While they would probably fail to out-persuade Macaroth, they could at least provide some resistance against the doubt and rumours he had left behind.

Then came the offensive strategy. It was easy enough to discover that this patron saint of the Akrassans was situated in Deren Abbey back in his own time, and it was not much of a stretch to assume that this had not changed. What they did not know, however, was how well defended Deren Abbey is at the moment. The 'saint' had come with an armed escort, so it would appear that he has at the very least a small army. There were rumours from upriver of populations being unsettled and the poor and criminal disappearing from their regions, which could probably be somehow connected to the activities of the 'saint', but the leaders had too little information to determine what was going on. Before they could send out an army to attempt to wipe out this uprising they would first need to assess what they were up against, so they sent out their scouts.

The scouts of Opes Fluvium are very mobile. While they use horses to travel long distances, as they would have to do to get near Deren Abbey, on foot they use wind magic to enhance their movements and allow them to travel fast, jump far and move almost silently. They were equipped with camouflage, allowing them to blend in with tall tropical grasses, short swords for if they end up having to fight, and telescopes to see details from a distance. Eight such scouts departed from Opes Fluvium and rode down the road which would eventually take them to Deren Abbey. Once they got close Deren Abbey, which is about a day's ride away, they would dismount, split up and go the rest of the way on foot, travelling by cover as much as they could and eventually finding a safe location from which they could see Deren Abbey. They would then make a mental note of what they saw, such as approximate troop numbers, armaments, and the fortifications present, and depart as swiftly as they came.

With speed, stealth, surprise and also the darkness of dusk which had fallen by the time they got there on their side, it would be a challenge to catch all the scouts, if Macaroth could manage to catch any at all, let alone notice them and identify them as threats. Their augmented speed would make it a challenge for any human to capture or kill them even if they saw them, but at the same time they might have difficulty escaping a flying foe if one pursues them.

As they left the realm of spirits, Ifrit felt a rather gut-wrenching feeling deep inside, jostling his newly made organs. Though the invisible cord dragging him along squeezed tightly on his neck like a noose, the pain was nowhere near equal to that he felt under the chains his old master had locked him up with. Even with such little time serving the Keeper, he wondered if serving the Infernal King had been a bad idea. Though he knew little of the ghostly mans agenda, so far he had been treated far better here. Ifrit was a bit dissapointed in the fact that he still had yet to be restored to his former glory and power, even though he was unsure if the Keeper even had the power to do so.

As they drifted through the sky, Ifrit swayed side to side, jerking rather quickly as the wind buffeted him. He could only wish for their arrival soon, so he could feel the sweet sensation of being earthbound again. He vaguely remembered once flying through the air on great wings of flame- back in his days of true glory when the Infernal King ruled over the land, and he rained fire down upon those blasphemous enough to not accept his rule. If was a very different experience, when Ifrit himself controlled the flight, and he didn't like the change much. Despite his troubles, he kept silent, not wishing to anger the Keeper.

---

Finally arriving back to the keep, Stamrad was surprised at the change that had occurred. He had spent quite awhile away, thanks to the massive load he had been hauling. The castle itself had been built up with strong stone walls, thanks to tireless work from the husks. This intimidating change took quite awhile of work, but would be well worth it in the long run, supposing anyone could brave the cold, and attack his fortress. As he carted the corpses through the gate, he was met with the army, many turning to point their weapons at him, before recognizing him, and lowering all hostilities.

He handed the reins over to some fresh ogres, as the two he had brought on the hunt were exhausted. He followed the ogres to the Dungeon heart, so he could present his successes to Viktor. As they arrived in the Dungeon Heart, he looked in surprise at Viktors new body. Much had changed in his absence, it had seemed. He saluted the autonomous Keeper, gesturing to the animal corpses.

Without hesitation, a robotic claw sprang out from Viktors body, snatching up the wagon, dumping the bloody mass of flesh onto his table. As more limbs reached down, working on the furry hides, Viktors eerie face looked down at Stamrad, his neck stretching out until the porcelain mask was mere inches from the magical set of armor. "Your efforts are much appreciated. You shall be written down in history, as will all who side with me, the side of true power. Before I send you back to battle, where I know you belong, stay with me, and speak." He said, making the command very clear. Even as they spoke, minotaurs were stumbling into consciousness, looking around the stone lab as they were sewn into existence. "There appears to be something troubling your mind, would you like to speak of it? Perhaps it has something to do with the disappearance of my most trusted adviser? I don't see him around." It was not difficult for Viktor to peer into Stamrads mind, after all, he had crafted it. He was a bit surprised, as Stamrad had locked up his thoughts well.

"There is nothing to report, sir. Vragas was killed by the stampeding creatures, there was unfortunately nothing I could do about it. It was a very sad moment, but I'm afraid that we must move on. What were you saying about sending me back into the fray?" Stamrad replied, wishing to stray away from the topic before Viktor peered past his mental barriers, and saw the betrayal. "We have discovered a fishing town, not too far away, and I need you to take it. We require more resources, and I believe that you should have no problem taking it for us. There is no problem here, is there?" Viktor stated, handing Stamrad a map, marked with the town. He knew that there were some holes in Stamrads story, but now was not the time to dwell.

Stamrad nodded quickly, looking at the now finished minotaurs. Without hesitation, he took the new recruits to train, so they could head out as quickly as possible. He truly dreaded what consequences he would face, should Viktor find out about the treason.

The flat, grassy floodplains that surrounded Paterdomus and the rocky shores of the Suri river gave way to a vast expanse. Rolling hills blanketed by forest sprawled for leagues before finally giving way to the nigh impassible Hindrun mountains. The tall trees suffocated and darkened the ground in their shadows, giving a foreboding air to this last pocket of resistance to the Paterdomus' faith; the bastion and homeland of a half dozen tribes of pagan, idol-worshiping savages. After perhaps an hour, Shaige and Ifrit had traversed a distance that would have taken weeks for anyone traversing through the sea of cedars and firs on foot.

As the duo flew over the trees, they came across a small redoubt most hewn of stone. It was a small castle in comparison to most, but it still managed to look over the wilderness landscape. Watchmen stood in its towers and many a guard patrolled atop its walls, suggesting it had a garrison of a few hundred. Wooden spikes stuck out from the battlements, each one adorned with a severed head. The grisly sight was no doubt a means of scaring off any marauding tribesmen that managed to sneak past the surrounding outposts.

Continuing to go further into the wilderness, the duo later came across a few small wooden outposts and watchtowers manned by Paterdomans. These forward outposts served as lodging and supply stations for the crusader armies that went out on expeditions further into the forest. They, along with the stone redoubt further back, also served the purpose of repelling any barbarian invasion. The tribesmen had in the past frequently went on excursions out of their wretched forest and into Paterdomus' hinterlands, reaving the farms, murdering serfs, and taking away from the church's taxes. That, along with the tribes' heresy, was why the natives here found themselves victims of a crusade.

Not much more time passed before the ruins of the Mutig Tribe's village came into view. At long last, the last fires had died out and the sad plumes of smoke were gone. In their place, however, were bands of men sifting through the rubble. Shaige promptly decided to investigate, tugging Ifrit down with him. Shaige stopped and examined one of the men as he approached. He certainly was not one of the grim, pale Paterdomans. However, the Keeper was unable to discern if this was one of his Mutig tribesman, or just a deplorable looter come from an enemy tribe. The man shivered as he walked right through the ghost's invisible form without realizing it.

Shaige reached out to the mind of his construct, Soran. Though he was still only one step above a lowly imp, Soran was the only follower that had demonstrating unwavering loyalty and at least a hint of intelligence. The construct, upon sensing a reestablished mental link, said, Master! Our deaf ears were incapable of hearing your whispers, and we lost contact for some time, as if you had simply vanished from this world. We feared for the worst, that you may have ran out of power and faded back into the void. It is good to sense your presence nearby, for much was accomplished during the tim-"

The Keeper quickly grew tired of his servant's ramblings and interrupted, "Soran. Men walk amongst the ruins of the Mutig village. Did you or Fangir send them?"

As soon as Shaige sensed the answer in Soran's mind, he soared off to the nearby caves that his followers inhabited. Before Soran could even think 'no', Shaige continued "Meet with Fangir. I have one small matter to attend to, and then I shall find the two of you. We must speak."

Shaige ducked into the ground rather than the hidden entrance, dragging Ifrit's ethereal form through a hundred feet of dirt and into a large, unused chamber. A winding tunnel infested with pain elementals separated this room from the rest of the underground city, ensuring that none of the imps or humans would interfere with what was about to happen. Shaige freed himself of the intangible tether that had connected him to Ifrit, and then shortened the thing before attaching it to a stalagmite. Ifrit would barely be able to move, but that was exactly what the Keeper wanted.

The very darkness in the air thickened itself into an ebony paint. Shaige painted an unholy pentagram around where Ifrit was now trapped. It had taken the souls of hundreds of the fallen for the Keeper to instantly turn the rogue being into a ghost, and it would have taken even more to bring back the creature into the physical world. Shaige did not have such resources on hand, and so he had to settle for this ritual. The pentagram on the floor would slowly siphon energy from the land and channel it into Ifrit, restoring his body. Over the course of a few days, the rogue being would be pulled completely back into the world of the living. Now, however, he would find himself seemingly abandoned by his master and left to rot in a room devoid of any light.

Shaige followed the aura emanated by Soran, heading through the walls and ground once more. There had been no time to explain what was happening to Ifrit, but that was no matter. The scion would surely be fine for a few days, and in the form of a ghost he would be unable to escape or wreak havoc in the underground city. Of course, that might happen once he was finally pulled into the physical world, but by then Shaige would hopefully have time to deal with his new minion.

The creature which stood in the centre of the crypt would be a chilling sight to behold were there any light to see by. This latest creation was mostly human, but unlike the walkers some notable modifications had been made. The limbs were elongated and muscle added to them, the hands and feet ended in claws, and the mouth was lined with sharpened teeth with a stronger jaw. As a consequence of this growth in some areas, the torso and waist were skinny, anorexic even, and the skin there hung loose, and the spine had been contracted, although with the longer limbs to compensate there was negligible change in height. As always, the eyes glowed black. This creature was designed for speed, climbing, and slashing and tearing. It was also somewhat smarter than the walkers, capable of arranging ambushes and coordinated attacks rather than merely mobbing any humans in sight, giving it a pack mentality rather than a hoard mentality. Similarly to the walkers, and any of the undead, killing them requires the body to be mutilated and rendered completely useless, for they have no need for organs or blood or air, only their muscles and skeleton and the magic binding them together and animating them.

Calvartem dubbed this creature a Gremlin. While it is superior to the Walker once summoned, the requirements for summoning a Gremlin are somewhat more stringent than that of a Walker. Because significant transformation needs to take place, they take somewhat more magic to summon. The corpse also needs to be in reasonable physical condition, with most of the flesh still on the bones, or else there will not be enough biomass to work with. However, he should not need nearly as many gremlins as walkers in a hoard, so this would not be a major flaw.

With a wave of his hand the Necromancer summoned a group of imps. He gestured to some of them and ordered, "You, make a tomb for this Gremlin." He then gestured to the wall next to the tomb for the Walker. Those imps drifted over to the wall and began chipping away with ethereal tools. To the other half of the group, Calvartem ordered, "I have some improvements for you to make to my Heart. Take some quartz and insert it at the end of the arms." The other imps also drifted off, this time in the other direction in search of the small quarry where the imps had found quartz the first time.

Calvartem left the imps to their task and emerged onto the surface. The red sun had risen by now, but the sunlight no longer bothered him. Whatever had happened to the Source had removed whatever holy, cleansing properties its light had. Outside he saw an imp waiting, and he realised that it must have been the last scout, which he had sent north. Calvartem sent a little mote of shadow at the imp, and it spoke.

"I found a large city to the north. It is well fortified, well populated. It has a big cathedral, and men dressed in robes of blue and red," the imp said.

The robes of blue and red were familiar to Calvartem. "Priests," he added.

"They have big walls, patrolled always. The cathedral is a fortress, and their leaders are there. Big army too."

The imp paused. "Is that all?" Calvartem asked.

"Yes, master."

Calvartem nodded and waved the imp back into the void. Such a city would be very large, and it would doubtless notice his presence eventually, especially as he has slaughtered a number of towns in the area. He would need to make preparations, and make his hoard greater.



Gremlin - Second minion. Undead, made from a somewhat fresh human corpse. Limbs are elongated and muscle mass on limbs increased, claws on hands and feet, teeth sharpened and jaw strengthened, chest and waist has greatly reduced muscle and fat, spine shortened, and eyes glow black. These agile monsters are built for speed and climbing, and for tearing and biting through flesh. With their pack hunting mentality as well as their agility, they are purposed to break apart enemy formations and bypass defences.

In his study Macaroth prepared for the upcoming collision, he had set the forges to work as much as possible and has staved off his leechings for the time being, steadily the number of his Man-at-Arms would rise to about six hundred when all his work was done. He had set his Sons to patrol the woods for spies and scouts, they flew low and steady just over the canopy trying to spot anything at all.

It did not take long for them to discover and kill six interlopers in the forest, they lifted them into the air as they found them and cut them into pieces as a visual warning to any would be onlookers to turn back while they can, still they scoured the skies tirelessly but missed two of the veteran scouts. They saw that Macaroths forces were for the most part well trained, turned from hardy mountain folk into hardy soldiers, resourceful bandits making better soldiers than they did brigands.

Macaroth could be seen periodically coming out to inspect his troops, three times he took ten of the best troops into the chapel and more flying warriors came out after several hours, after which he would not be seen for a while.

Xir'ain thought for a moment in his dungeon's burning heart. Could he use such a power? His immediate thinking was no; he needed living things, not dead ones. The dead and rotten would not feed his forces, and he had no enemies. But he could make enemies. No, the giant could make enemies for him. And then Xir'ain was done thinking, a beautiful, terrible plan having shaped itself in his mind. He'd decided. Between his outstretched hands, the swirling storm of black water and golden light flared with power.

The Xir'ain mimic looked only at the giant's one seeing eye. The black figure held out a hand, and a swirling storm of black and gold, not entirely unlike the one raging in the dungeon's heart but of a much smaller scale, formed between it and the giant. Ribbons of gold reached out and wrapped around the runner's ruined corpse, pulling black water into it, recreating bone and muscle and skin, but leaving the husk entirely lifeless, to be destroyed again by the giant's gaze. "There is nothing in my domain I cannot create and recreate, but the creations of others I cannot with my present power. Can your magic also stop such a plague once it has been created? It shouldn't matter either way, but it would be convenient. No, I'm getting ahead of myself. There are many steps between now and then. I haven't even presented you with your options yet."

The golden storm of lightning and water raged stronger. "Creature of rot and decay, your worlds are weak, but your body and magic is strong. In exchange for continued life, I ask of you one thing: that you accept I, Xir'ain, Keeper of the Dark Abyss, as your master, creator, and god, to obey, serve, and die for. You are free to reject my offer and die now, as your corpse would serve my intentions nearly as well."