Shaige eyed his new creature. It was the human that he had brought down to his dungeon heart. When his slumber ended and his eyes opened, he would find them to have a soft purple glow like those of his master, but otherwise he appeared no different from before. The changes were all on the inside. Judging by the fire priests and their crusaders, the Knights of the Flame, this world was no stranger to seeing magically augmented warriors. The soldiers had managed to trek through the woods for hours in their armor, heft around large weapons with surprising speed, and withstand any stray bolts of fire magic from the priests.

Shaige already had three hundred tribesmen as well as a few dozen druids that were more than happy to fight, but none of them would have been able to match Paterdomus' crusaders toe to toe, in a fair fight. That was, until now. Shaige had used this man as a prototype for his new augmented soldiers, using his magic as a keeper to bless and empower the human in various ways. The man's skeletal and muscular systems were improved, making him both stronger and more resilient. His body was given extreme endurance as well. Great willpower combined with a superior physique would allow these soldiers to wear extremely heavy plate armor, and fight almost unhindered by the standards of normal people.

The next procedure for most sorcerers would be to improve the muscles to make them move faster instead of just more forcefully. Shaige had differenent plans, however. As most soldiers in Elysium were augmented with the primitive sort of magic that could be wielded by mortals, perhaps combined with a few potions, Shaige had already augmented this man beyond almost any other human soldier on the continent. To do much more would place too much stress on the human body, and likely end up killing the tribesman. However, there were still other things that could be done to improve his followers. Shaige enhanced the man's mental capacities, something that was almost never done to augment soldiers.

Moral implications aside, altering and improving a mind was something extremely difficult, even by the standards of a keeper. However, Shaige managed to accomplish it. Augmenting a human made them a perfect frame for a soldier, though they were still ineffective warriors unless trained well. However, Shaige's alterations to the mind would make these undisciplined and worthless tribesmen capable of mastering any weapon or fighting technique in the span of days or weeks, as compared to months or years. It would also have the desirable side effect of improving their reaction time and reflexes in actual combat, which would end up being about as much of an advantage as faster movement.

His experiment done, Shaige knew that replicating the augmentation he had just done of this first human would be easy. Shaige met with Fangir in the shrine above. The smelter and foundry had been completed with assistance from the imps, the only ones in the entire city who knew anything whatsoever about working metal. Soran had shown the humans what metal ores to search for and now miners were scouring the tunnels, chipping into any iron or coal veins that they found in the walls of the tunnel. The imp construct was currently acting as forgemaster to get a batch of armor and weapons prepared for the first squad of augmented humans. The brightest tribesman that was to be found was apprenticed to Soran, and would take control as soon as he was deemed competent.

Shaige made inquiries with Fangir about the best fighters in the city. Aside from the druids, who were undoubtedly more useful as they were rather than as augmented infantry, there were very few actual warriors in the city. Most had died trying to fight against the crusaders, and those that remained were not seasoned veterans. They were used to fighting wildly with bows and tomahawks; there was nobody who could train them to fight in formation or even with swords, spears, or shields. Regardless, Shaige augmented 19 more of the tribesmen, and left several imps with orders to do the same to another 30.

Fangir's next order was to oversee construction of a barracks for the soldiers and residential area for the workers, as well as latrines. Currently, every person just had claimed their own alcove corner. The few sleeping chambers had terrible conditions, often with more than a dozen sweaty bodies cramped into a tiny, stuffy, and damp room, sleeping on only straw or leaves. Such areas were disgusting unsanitary. The bedding wasn't changed, bodily fluids were in abundance, and the lack of a designated latrine presented problems as well. Though they had not been here for longer than a few months, it was a wonder that disease hadn't already claimed half the caverns' population. Aside from the danger of death, these conditions were leading to sleep deprivation and wreaking havoc on overall happiness and productivity. It had to end.

Shaige rested within the murky depths of his unholy font, the dungeon heart. The keeper sensed an imp above, draining more blood into the waters. The crusaders' corpses were rapidly diminishing, but there was still enough to last several days. By then, the shadow fully intended to have live prisoners. The imp left. Of course, another was wont to return soon enough to refill the blood in the fountain, but the keeper would be alone for some time. He would see to it that he soon had a minion capable of training his new soldiers.

Level 1 Construct: 0/3
25 Sets of weapons and armor: 0/5

Kalok looked at his newest creation as it looked around the room, before its serpent like green eyes came to rest oj its master. It tilted its head and moved forwards, the light catching its scaled skin as it came forwards towards him, its teeth visible through its jaw, jagged white fangs. It had two large, powerful hind legs, with clawed feet... But it possessed no arms nor a second set of legs. Instead, there were two large wings where one would expect the second set of legs to be at the front, and the creature instead used those in place of a second set of legs. It paused, letting out a roar before speaking in a deep, gravely voice that seemed to shake the Earth
"I am the first born of the Wyverns, and I am ready to serve!" It bellowed, stomping forwards towards its master. Kalok grinned and gestured to the door
"The Imps will show you the way. Go now, I will have need of your skills shortly. Send me the Imp Foreman... I have work to do with him."

Meanwhile...

The ship sailed along the stretch of water, powerful orcish warriors ready and armed to launch an invasion of the nearest island. They headed toward a coastal village, and sailed past... And then fired their cannons. There was a crack unlike any of the islanders had ever heard, before the cannon balls flew towards them an impacted several of their buildings, knocking them down. Two boats launched from the village, small ships that were clearly designed more for fishing than anything, and began to sail towards the ship, obviously aiming to board it. Then came four more cracks of cannon fire, and the islanders watched in horror as the two fishing ships were sank. Another crack, the shells raining down on their town once more. Finally, one ran out towards the dock waving a piece if white cloth, and the shelling stopped. The Orcish ship sailed towards the dock to claim its surrendering prize.

Stamrad sighed heavily, plunging his blade deep into the chest of yet another of the Northern Giants. When the troop of monsters had arrived to the nearest camp, the savages hadn't hesitated to attack. The battle didn't last long, Stamrad's military guidance, paired with their superior strength and weaponry made it a slaughter. Though a couple of ogres had been taken down by larger groups of the savages, the result of the battle had been inevitable. So, there Stamrad stood, looking down upon the eleven that had been spared, Viktor had requested some of the victims be left alive.

The savages struggles to escape their rope bonds, in a manner almost amusing to Stamrad. He waved to one of the ogres, who proceeded to unceremoniously slam the hilt of his axe into each of their heads, putting them to a very sudden sleep, before they were tossed in the cart with their dead brethren. Stamrad had found it odd that there were so few signs of life in the camp. Surely, this had to be their largest, yet they only had about eighty fighters among them, along with some unknown number of people who had fled in the battle. Still, any bodies were good bodies, as the prime directive was the expansion of their army. If that meant slaughtering a few innocent barbarians, who was Stamrad to argue? So, without hesitation, Stamrad began the trek back to the dungeon, knowing that Viktor would be pleased with his progress.

---

In the town hall of Pracll, the Righteous Guild of Industry and commerce had gathered, the mass of bodies pressed tightly together at a table, a roaring fire burning in the fireplace behind them. Before them stood a shaking man, with a frenzied look in his eyes. The Guild had been hesitant to meet at such a time, saying that this could be put off until a better hour, but the man had insisted, saying it was of the utmost importance that they speak of this now. So, many of the members looked at him expectantly, wondering what it was that couldn't be put off until the sun rose.

"Beru Bestal- Today you have called a meeting of The Most Righteous Guild of Industry and Commerce. You are aware of the penalties, should we find this be a waste of our important time?" One man asked, not waiting for an answer to continue. It was only protocol, after all. "Now, what is this matter that was so important that it had to disturb our... important business?" Another asked. While they spoke, a pale man in the corner was furiously transcribing the conversation.

"G-g-gentlemen of The Righteous Guild... I come to you with a plea from the people. We have had no protection from you against the barbarian threat for years, yet you still boast of your role in the greater good of this town. We have relied on our own men, humble fishermen risking their lives to protect their lively hood- now today, we are faced with a threat like no other we have witnessed." Beru stammered, slowly gaining confidence in his little speech, standing straight. When he saw the malicious looks that rested upon The Guild members' faces, he cowered back down into a slouch. "Mister Bestal, we will overlook this obvious insult, to humor whatever ridiculous complaint you may have. What exactly is this threat?" Asked one of the younger members, his long face drawn taut in a scowl.

"Today I was out in the Northern lake, as I was assigned, when I was attacked by a troop of Northern Giants- I followed standard proc-" He managed to stammer out, before being interrupted. "Don't call them that. They are no legendary fighters deserving of such a name. They are nothing more than savages, disgusting animals. You glorify them." Beru looked a bit confused for a moment, before continuing. "These savages attacked, so I lit the signal fire, and boarded myself in the house- as procedure dictates. But as they reached my door, they were approached by another group. Monsters- disgusting creatures of flesh and iron attacked, killing the savages with no remorse. A walking suit of armor led them. I was saved only by the heroic few who dared respond to my signal." He said, shuddering as he brought up the terrifying memory. "These creatures are nothing to be trifled with- we need to contact Altearx, warn them- perhaps they will send assistance- Their warriors would be able to-" Beru said, his eyes lighting up before once again being cut off.

It was a woman who spoke now, face wrinkled with years of experience. In a pleasant but strong tone, she made clear that she was not to be interrupted. "We understand your concern, Mister Bestal, and appreciate your warning, but we are afraid that everything you have said today is absolute nonsense. Consider the fact that we have not locked you up yet a miracle." She said, before gesturing to two guards stationed at the door. "Do yourself a favor, and never speak of this again- some might not see your lies quite as clearly, and we don't need a panic on our hands, do we?" She said, her sweet voice dripping with malice. The guards proceeded to grab him, hoisting him through the door unceremoniously. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Mister Bestal!" One of the Guild called after him. As soon as the heavy doors slammed shut, a hooded man emerged from the shadows, looking expectantly at the woman. "I want him dead before the sun rises." She said simply, tossing a bag of coins to the man.

"Some legends are more real than others," Balon spat back.

Xir'ain laughed in his air-escaping-from-a-punctured-balloon sort of way. "Are you saying you are a fake legend, or that this human god is? As far as I can see, the former is equally likely as the latter."

"I was stating that it's true I butchered entire towns and enslaved thousands," Balon retorted, growing visibly angry.

"And here you are, enslaved by your own choice." Black cloth from the giant's armor-like cloak snapped forth to cover the giant's mouth. "Enly'air, besides the walls, what else protects the city of Ensis'Lucas?"

She thought for a moment. "There is the Order of Steel, a group of many magic-wielding knights that act as a sort of small army and police force, and there is the Trivital, the three leaders of the Order. Each of them is more powerful than the entire force they lead. The port is protected by iron spikes on the seafloor that can be risen by magic to sink any incoming ship. Oh, and there is the high priest who is supposedly an incredibly powerful magician, but he only uses his power to perform miracles. No one actually sees him use his magic, so he might not be as strong as people say." She thought some more. Was she forgetting anything? She didn't think so. "I think those are the only powers that are worth mentioning within the city walls. What do you plan on doing?"

A huge hand emerged from the water. Balon ripped off the cover gagging him, and spat out some of the vile fluid that had seeped into his mouth. "There is no need to plan. The answer is simple. Allow me to conjure a plague. Send something to taint the city's waters. They all die. A siege would serve no purpose save to amuse."

Xir'ain liquified the surface of the lake beneath Balon's heavy feet, allowing him to sink as if he stood on quicksand. The keeper proceeded to ignore the giant's ignorant words. "First, I plan on seeing this city with my own eyes. After that, I plan on becoming its new god. No matter how strong or proud, none stand in opposition against their god when he appears before them." Xir'ain slouched down in his throne. "Unfortunately, I know nothing of fire nor earth. I will deal with that problem after I've visited the city. I must first know my enemy."

Enly'air nodded. Learning about one's enemy was a smart decision. Wait, enemy? Why was Ensis'Lucas the enemy again? Oh well, if Xir'ain called them the enemy then they must be.

Balon found the solidified fluid beneath his feets shift. He attempted to stagger backwards, only to find that he was stuck. His entire body crashed into the lake's serene surface, created what was a tsunami compared to the usual lapping waves. After a few seconds he managed to raise his head above the surface. It was clear that Xir'ain wanted him to be quiet, so the giant endeavored to be loud.

"You? Their little spark of a god? Don't delude yourself!" the giant bellowed, waiting to see what his master's response would be.

Xir'ain turned back to his resident peanut gallery. "Are you still speaking?" The keeper sent his golden light through the giant's darkened chest and stopped the false heart he had implanted in Balon's body.

Thoroughly silenced, Balon sank back into the waters. Some time later an audible thud could be heard as his massive, limp body struck the lake's bed.

"Much better," Xir'ain commented. Enly'air nodded in agreement. She was still confused as to why Xir'ain didn't just kill the giant. After he heard the thud of dead weight hitting stone, Xir'ain sighed. He lifted the body back to the surface and restarted the creature's heart. "I do hate repeating myself. Balon, please don't fall asleep when I'm killing you next time."

The giant attempted to say something, though his lungs had filled with the lake's inky water. What came out was more akin to a hacking cough. A deluge of water spewed out from his mouth and landed on Enly'air, along with an assortment of other bodily fluids.

Xir'ain raised a hand, and the contents of Balon's lungs and throat formed a ball in the air, which he sent flying over the sea of golden grasses. "Fleshy creatures are so messy," the keeper whose body was made of nothing mused.

"Enly'air, Balon, you are dismissed to do what you wish for now. I must retire to my dungeon's heart to prepare for infiltrating Ensis'Lucas. There is no reason to put it off. The plan will be long in execution, so it is best to put it into motion soon. Enly'air, please speak with the runners at some point and tell them everything you know about Ensis'Lucas, no matter how unimportant. They will be able to come up with attack plans should a battle become unavoidable. Balon, do as you wish, so long as you don't kill anything." Xir'ain looked around at the sea of gold. "And stay off the grass," he added. "It's to feed the eels, and likely you as well. You eat, I assume?"

"Not plants," Balon answered, before skulking off. He would try to find the hole in the tunnel that he first fell through, and then clamber back onto the surface there. If he walked along the coastline far enough, he was bound to find what he was looking for.

Xir'ain descended down through his dark dungeon and into his dungeon's heart. He dug inside Enly'air's forgotten memories there, looking at all the many kinds of people she had known and known of during her time as a human. When the keeper was sure of the pattern that human appearance seemed to follow, he began working on changing himself. The vortex of swirling black and arcing gold burst into life, and the black curtain formed over the crack in the bedrock that led to the heart.

Though the Compound of Eyes provided images of events miles away in real time, it still took Clotho a few precious moments to realize thing were going awry. By now the Biomancer's Guild, near empty and built more for lavish comfort than defensive fortitude, had crumbled as the ground beneath it became a sinkhole. Those who had destroyed it, however, had remained unseen as Clotho had hoped, assuring her that the remainder of the operation would go as smoothly.

Thus, she didn't immediately register her plan falling apart. Rather than a simple foundation, the barracks of the city guard had several underground floors. Without the raw materials to make bricks or concrete in the jungle, the people of Virens had evidently chosen to build downward rather than upward. When the platoon of Antlions and its imp handlers breached the walls of the third, then, and encountered the men-at-arms within, they were unsure of what to do. The imps were dumbfounded and hesitant, terrified of fighting but equally scared of the prospect of failure. Aggressive and mindless, the Antlions fell back to their primary, instinctual strategy: charge.

“No!” Clotho slammed her fist into the wall as the first Macula's receptor went dark. The last thing it had seen was an iron spearpoint accelerating quickly. “Wretched worms!” Her furious words went unheeded; the Compound of Eyes relayed information one way only, and even then only sight—not sound. After this initial outburst, the Swarm Keeper quickly regained her taciturn composure. With no way to relay her commands over the distance that separated her and her floundering troops, the only hope left was the possibility of taking more direct control. The dull, savage, diminutive psyches of her creatures had been designed to function as a hivemind, coordinating offense and defense alike between each species using their own signals and impulses. Such phenomena were common in nature, and like the hiveminds of ants and bees, hers had a queen. Clotho abandoned the Compound of Eyes and darted to her Heart, praising her own foresight to situate the Compound and her sanctum so closely. Once inside the folds of her cocoon, she attempted to reach out telepathically to her Antlions fighting in the barracks of Virens. Like a spider on its web, she dimly felt the reverberations of their activity echoed upon her own psyche, and attempted to send out her own vibrations in return. The entire process was difficult and experimental, but Clotho bent her full consciousness to the task. The pressure mounted; within her cocoon, she twisted and writhed, trying desperately to make the connection...

Fool

In a flash, all of Clotho's focus washed away. Her eyes snapped open, and her pent-up energy burst her cocoon into shreds while the entire chamber echoed with her shriek. “No! The hivemind was within my grasp!”

Wrong

The voice spoke from within her mind, but was more masculine, guttural and sinister. Another aspect lay beneath all of that: great age. “Who is this? How am I hearing you in my thoughts?”

All you are is because of me

Clotho breathed steadily, slowing her pulse to normal levels. Confusion and anger threatened to overtake her, but if she succumbed to either, all would be lost. “I'll deal with you later,” she resolutely addressed the empty room, which was silent but for the smooth, quiet slither of the fiber strands of her Heart weaving themselves back together to reform the cocoon she had sundered. Dismissing the whole hivemind-tether theory as a failure, most likely not even possibly in the first place, she returned in haste to the Compound of Eyes.

She arrived just in time to witness the final moments of the battle in the barracks through the dying eye of the last remaining Macula. Outnumbered and severely intellectually outmatched, the Antlions had fallen under waves of guardsmen. Their husks lay strewn about the room, leaking vital fluids from dozens of wounds. In defeat everything looked remarkable similar; stone-faced men standing still in the torchlight, gazing at the unmoving corpses of their monstrous foes. Only two figures stood out to Clotho. One was plainly the new captain of the guard, adorned in extravagant armor stained with the guts of Antlions. The other, a slender, short-haired blonde adorned in traveler's cloak and wielding a curved longsword, was totally new to her. Though Clotho couldn't hear the woman speak as she approached the Macula, blade extended, she could read her lips well enough. A great evil is watching our city through these vile eyes, she was declaring to the guardsmen. We must prepare ourselves to face this threat. The woman made a swift cut with the tip of her sword, and the receptor went dark.

Clotho crossed her arms and thought for several minutes about what had just transpired. Defeat for her operation in Virens, the need for proper leadership in all future endeavors, the voice in her head, and this mysterious human female. “It seems,” she said at last, speaking to the empty Compound, “That Virens has a hero.”


Compendium Entry
Fury – the Kindling of Vengeance and one of the three Apocrypha of Elysium. Primarily called Eris Contiello. A human who presided over the gladiatorial Sand Pits of Anicetus as its administrator now traveling Elysium to discover her true purpose. Stocky, red of hair, stubborn, and strong of will, she remains somewhat dubious of the tale of the Horsemen, despite the best efforts of her 'brothers'. Wields the Sadist's Lash, a length of rope infused with her magic to become a spiked whip capable of tearing flesh from bone with ease.

The rest is over, now he prepared for his first conquest as a saint. He rose from the quicksilver bath rejuvenated and molded himself a full plate armor from the same. He went outside and rallied his soldiers, human and ascendant. He ordered trebuches built on the edges of the forest, his army went and gathered there in camp while his engineers worked to build the war machines. Now it was just a matter of time and patience before the first onslaught, he kept the Maiden hidden from view, she would turn the tide when the time is right.

The camp was up by nightfall and Macaroth looked to the walls that stood in his way, he grew to despise every rock stacked up to make this great obstacle, but soon it would not matter. Under the cover of darkness small bands of people deserted the city and made their way to Macaroths side, even though it was dark out he could be seen luminous, like a distant star in the fields, his magic was boiling within him as his will to wrath rose against the foolish mages.

At last, the picture was complete in the keeper's mind. Unholy fumes wafted up from the font of blood and coalesced into a creature. Shaige emerged from his heart. His piercing, amethyst eyes stared at the twisted figure before him. The Tormenter was a lifeless husk, gaunt and curled on the ground into a fetal position. It looked almost human-sized, though that was deceptive. If it stood straight and unfolded its bat-like wings, it would look grander than it did now.

Shaige examined its other features as well. Vicious claws on its hands and talons on its feet would make it dangerous enough. The construct was also venomous; any that had the misfortune of being wounded by it would die a rapid yet agonizing death. The Tormenter's head was large and elongated, with a disproportionately large jaw full of dagger-like fangs. Two huge, bulbous eyes would gift the thing with near perfect sight at night, though the daylight would be almost blinding. That was no matter though. This construct was primarily not for fighting or leading, but for spying. Its only truly impressive attribute would be the ability to possess dozens of creatures at the same time. Its coal-black skin and wings would allow it to fly unseen throughout the night, using its powers to enthrall any stray humans. Then it would find a cave or other suitable spot to hide, and control its thralls throughout the day.

The creature still laid limp on the tile floor, inanimate. "Arise," ordered Shaige. The keeper received nothing in response. Bah, he had neglected to imbue it with consciousness or even the most instinctive of minds! This could be fixed easily enough. With a wave of his hand, the shadow pulled several wailing souls of from the depths of the red waters. The magic of his dungeon heart trapped the souls of any sacrificial victims until they could be used. The keeper pointed a spindly finger of pure darkness towards the Tormenter. With no choice but to obey, the souls all poured into the lifeless body. Shaige used his dark magic to meld all the crusaders' souls together, creating one conscience that was more clever than all the smaller ones combined.

Yet even more magic had to be wrought in order to make the Tormenter unfailingly loyal and detach it from any emotions and memories of past lives. The construct would have many vivid memories of being slain by Shaige's followers, though it wouldn't care. Perhaps it would have been easier to simply erase all the memories of the slain crusaders, but doing so would have also erased most of their knowledge. "Awaken," Shaige commanded. This time, the creature's eyelids snapped open and it scrambled to its feet.

"Your first orders are to seek out and find the newly blessed zealots. You have the collective knowledge and prowess of half a dozen Knights of the Flame; use it to train my warriors well. A task beneath you, to be sure, but you are the sole follower of mine competent enough to do it."

The Tormenter nodded. It threw open the doors and ran through the tunnels. There was not enough space to fly, but the construct still wasted no time in fulfilling its master's orders. It did not know what these 'zealots' were, but a fear of looking unintelligent to its master had prevented the construct from asking. Instinctively not wanting to be seen, it found an empty chamber in the caverns and began hanging from the ceiling, shrouded by darkness. From there, it began probing through the minds of anything nearby that it sensed. After some time, the first twnety five zealots (whose armor and weapons had been issued out by now) made their way to the empty chamber.

Some strange desire had welled up inside each of the zealots, and they had found themselves walking before they even knew what they were doing. Now, for some reason they had begun sparring. Whenever one of them made a mistake, they instantly knew what they had done wrong, some strange voice whispering instructions in their minds. Their superior memories and minds meant that they seldom needed to be corrected twice. None of them told the others about it for fear of being labelled insane, but they were making great progress in a matter of minutes. After some time, the Tormenter found that its assistance was no longer needed. It continued to hang from the ceiling above, secretly watching the humans as they made progress.

Meanwhile, Shaige returned to where he had left Ifrit. Soon the ritual pentagram would have siphoned enough power to restore the scion's monstrous body, and when that happened the keeper needed to ensure that the thing did not destroy half of the dungeon. Upon arriving, the keeper noticed that the tribesmen had chosen this room to vent the forge's exhaust into. Already the place had been sealed off, and it was beginning to fill with soot and hot, choking smoke from burning coal. This would probably be a fine kennel to keep the fiery beast in. Ifrit would never be far, and never have the chance to rampage through the tunnels.

The shadow manifested in the dark room and channeled a small amount of magic into the pentagram to expedite its progress. The glyphs began to glow, pushing back some of the impenetrable darkness, and Ifrit finally had his physical form restored. "I trust that a creature of your nature is capable of withstanding these conditions," the wraith spoke, a shadowy appendage gesturing to the growing layer of smoke above. "This would make an acceptable place for you to rest when not doing my bidding, would it not? But that is not the reason that I am here," Shaige went on.

After a long pause, he continued, "I take it you have a talent for violence. If that is indeed the case, then I have a task for you."

______________

Zadok's departure had changed nothing. The Carver was assaulting its adversary with renewed vigor now that its ally was not here to cast blasts of holy energy. The Ripper was continuing to deflect or counter nigh every move, occasionally performing an attack of its own. The former being had barely done any noticeable damage to its foe, while the latter being was still attempting to breach the Source's core to no avail, even now after all this time and battling. Both of the entities thought in terms of millennium rather than hours, but even they were beginning to grow frustrated with the stalemate.

Some time after the anti-keeper had left, the Carver sensed someone struggling to establish a mental connection. The Carver bridged the gap between their minds, creating a link. It was Zadok. That was good. The guardian telepathically communicated, "You seem to have survived."

((Sorry for my long absence))

The moon was finally high in the sky. Lord Rain left his tent, and said "Men, leave your tents, the invasion is beginning!". The whole army that wasn't outside took up almost all the space in the camp. They marched down the hill that they were on, into the back of the clearing near the town. The army was quickly put into divisions: spearmen, which took the front to create a wall of shields and spears, and the swordsmen, which took up the flanks along with providing extra killing power to the wall of spears.

Alongside those are the archers/bowmen, which took up the center of the little rectangle of absolute death. They take cover behind the shields of the spearmen, with the mission of raining arrows upon the enemy to soften them up. Then, there are the magic casters. These magic casters are the best in the army at magic, and they are unarmed besides their magic. They took up the back, and their mission is to rain lightning upon the enemy to take out at least a small chunk of their army. In the back behind all the soldiers was Shock, the one that would be shouting orders to the many divisions. All the way in the front was Lord Rain. He would be doing a lot of damage, at least he planned to. You really can't not do a lot of damage when you're wielding two axes of lightning and you're also a Keeper with the power of lightning.

The army finally had gotten into divisions, but the town was barely visible due to the fog. The army marched closer to the town, and a small group of guards on the walls finally saw them just as the first row was visible. The guard began to let out a loud whistle, when the rest of the army had shown up. The guard froze in fear, but finally let out a loud whistle to alert the other guards. When the other guards finally came to the front walls, a lot of them were very shocked. The ones that were forced to go to the gate in case the army got through the walls were especially scared. They were lucky that wasn't the place the army would strike, except for a small force, of course. Human archers and even a few wizards (albeit weak ones) lined the front of the walls. This army was about seven-eights the size of Lord Rain's.

Lord Rain's army split into three groups, one group taking the area near the wall's gate, the other two taking the two guard towers in the front. The magic casters near the guard towers ripped through the guard towers using lightning magic. Lord rain himself was cutting through the iron gate which was keeping the middle group out. Finally, Lord Rain just casted a lightning bolt spell, and the gate blew open. The guards at the gate charged at them, and Lord Rain charged back at them, taking a small group of them down with his axes whilst his own group's archers and magic casters rained death upon the enemy. Meanwhile, at the guard towers...

Shock stood behind his group, yelling at them to not attack but instead prepare to. The spearmen on both sides readied their spears and shields, the swordsmen readied their swords, the archers took out an arrow from their small bag of arrows and put it on their bows, and the magic casters prepared to cast a spell. The guards went into a small formation similar to a phalanx. Suddenly, Shock yelled the order to charge, and the archers and magic casters took out a large portion of the guards. Their archers fired back, but only wounded a few of Lord Rain's army due to the shields of the spearmen protecting them. The army charged, and completely destroyed the guards. A few of Lord Rain's troops were killed from being impaled, which were just Stormers, but mostly the group survived. They flooded into the town with Lord Rain's group, which had just killed off the group of guards at the gate.

A group of townspeople had formed a militia, and were surprisingly different from the guards. They took up all the weapons they could, mainly farming and construction tools, and even a few torches and bows. The townspeople attacked the army, and drove through them, surprisingly. About ten Stormers were killed and even two Bolters were also killed. The townspeople were then either impaled, died in a shower of lightning and arrows, or killed by a lot of swords. The battle hadn't ended yet, though.

A man in armor walked out of a large stone building. He seemed very, very angry. Lord Rain guessed that this man owned the town. The man was in shiny, white armor, with a gold-colored trim. He drew his sword, and put a tower shield up in defense.

"If I die... I die trying to save my people", the man said. Lord Rain told his army to not attack, as he wished to do some 'diplomacy' with this man. He walked up to the man, and spoke.

"Give us this town, unless you wish to know what it is like to be dead. Either way, we'll still capture this town." The man simply shook his head and replied with "Didn't you hear what I said? I said that if I die, I'll die trying to save my people." The man pointed his sword at Lord Rain. Two things went through Lord Rain's mind: kill him, or let him live and see what happens. Lord Rain chose the former.
((TO BE CONTINUED! DUN DUN DUN))

Forces: 30 imps, 87 Stormers(77 camped near town), 45 Bolters(40 camped near town), 2 Captured Humans
Constructs/Rogue Beings: Shock (Stormer Construct)(camped near town)
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.

~BBeast and Cavalier~

Calvartem's hoard of undead cattle had been growing nicely until a fiery explosion erupted from a bull which had wandered away from the group. He turned and saw that a man with spiked red hair in a red robe, like those of the priests he had encountered last time, armed with a brilliant bow of fire standing over the charred remains. The pyromancer led attacks against the Walkers, burning the corpses and rendering them useless. This man would ruin Calvartem's plans, so he would have to be stopped.

From the back of Shadowmane, the Necromancer waved his staff over at three human Walkers, made from farmers foolish enough to try and stop his hoard without proper preparation, and they collapsed to the ground. At another wave, their flesh rippled and twisted, transferring muscle mass from the chest to the limbs and growing sharp claws and teeth. The Gremlins stood, and Calvartem ushered them away quietly. They would flank the town and attack from behind once they made it around, killing people cowering in their homes and giving Calvartem another pathway for victory. But for now, he would deal with the pyromancer personally.

He rallied up his undead cattle and set them in a charge on the resistance the pyromancer was leading. He could see that this man could easily take down his undead individually, he doubted that he would be quiet as successful in dealing with a full charge of 30 cattle. However, he did not leave things to chance. Calvartem pointed his staff at the ground and unleashed a surge of shadowy fire at it. The magical pulse buried itself into the ground and made its way under the charging cattle and towards the pyromancer at speed. Once the pulse reached where the man stood, it erupted out of the ground in an explosion comparable to a landmine, throwing stones and clods of dirt into the air as well as striking out with a rending blast that would easily incapacitate any normal man.

When the nebulous explosion tossed the singed and dazed but otherwise barely harmed fire priest into the air, however, in one piece rather than several, it became apparent that this being was more than human. The huddle of farmers that had been following him lay on the earth or against the nearest building or fence, stunned and useless. From their midst the pyromancer pushed himself to his feet, hastened by the incoming undead charge. "Finally, an enemy worth fighting!" he growled as he sighted Calvartem a few hundred feet away, majestic and terrifying atop his fiendish steed. He hadn't long to spectate, though, as in a few seconds the incoming wall of resurrected cattle would tear him limb from limb.

The necromancer's attack gave him an idea of his own. The fire priest knelt down swiftly, arms ablaze with magical energy, and began to channel his power through the ground as well. Cracks raced across its surface like jagged bolts of lightening, filled with fierce orange light. They met the stampede roughly fifteen feet from the fire priest's position and lit up as bony hooves trampled across them, releasing pillars of flame that further cracked and seared the earth while badly damaging Walkers that attempted to pass through it. Effectively, the pyromancer had created a protective wall of fire jets, spurting from the ground like miniature volcanoes. While not as directed or powerful as his bound arrows, the wall ensured that any Walkers blindly rushing his position would be damaged and slowed enough by the barrier so that the fire priest could take them down with his bow. Of course, the Walkers could ultimately just walk around the burning barrier, but that would slow them down and split them up further.

Dealing with such low enemies was something the fire priest both appreciated and scorned. While any battle in which he was able to exercise his might was enjoyable, there was not much satisfaction and no challenge in reducing these mindless corpses to cinders. The mounted necromancer, though--a being of intelligence and magical mastery, most like. With a head like that directing a dead army, they would surely find ways around his defences. As such, even though his current position was good, the fire priest began to back off into the relative safety of the buildings, firing as he went. He anticipated a change of tactics.

The Walkers which made it through the flames were burning but otherwise not fazed, and continued their advance towards the fire priest, where they were being shot down one by one by exploding spikes of white-hot fire. Calvartem directed the rest of the herd around the fire wall, for he needed them intact, and by that time his opponent had backed away into the village. Calvartem sent most of the remaining Walkers into another charge, to overrun the village and perhaps that pesky pyromancer too, but a few remained to bite and gore the stunned farmers before making their own ways towards the town. Calvartem galloped closer to the fresh corpses, with Shadowmane easily bounding over the wall of fire jets, and he cast tendrils of black fire from his staff which wormed their way into the corpses. A few seconds later the corpses had been transmuted into Gremlins, and he sent those out to flank the town too. Just so the pyromancer would not be able to get comfortable shooting down his undead cattle, Calvartem started firing bolts of his own dark magic at the man, if he even was a man.

A momentary look of annoyance crossed the fire priest's rough features as he realized that his burning barrier wasn't hurting the Walkers as much as he initially thought. He instantly felt gratified his decision to make an aggressive retreat, as the flaming corpses were rapidly being rejoined by others that had heeded their master's command and simply gone around the firewall. He was about to round the corner of a house and lose his line of sight to the failed barrier when the enemy commander, astride his dead horse, leaped it and began raising nearby corpses. The pyromancer took a risk and stopped moving for a moment to examine the necromancer and watch it work. This analysis was interrupted, however, as Calvartem looked his way and turned the black firebolts on him instead. After loosing a parting shot from his bound bow, the fire priest dodged around the corner and down a dirt street perpendicular to the one occupied by the necromancer. The dark magic blasted the spot he had been moments ago, throwing up ash and clods of dirt, and through the dust charged the undead. With only a dozen feet separating man and monster now, worry began to gnaw at the corners of his consciousness. A new idea crossed his mind, and he mentally banked it for potential usage later.

Calvartem was in the middle of casting his own attack when the fire priest released a counter attack, a fast fire arrow. With no time to raise a shield he could only try and lean out of the way, but that was met with only limited success as the arrow pierced through his right ribs. The bolt blasted a number of his ribs off, sending the charred, shattered bones flying across the street, and burned a large hole in his ancient robe. Fortunately the bolt passed through him before exploding, but the damage which had been dealt still angered Calvartem.

Banishing any trace of fear, the fire priest swiftly loosed two shafts. One downed the lead Walker, turning it into an inanimate, flaming wreck that partially obstructed the street and bought him a little time. The second fire spike stuck into the wooden building to his left, only a few feet away from him, and exploded. The resulting detonation flung burning lengths of lumber across the path, which would temporarily keep the skeletal herd from advancing down this street. However, it also badly burned the fire priest, melting away the skin on the left side of his face and knocking him down. A villager nearby, so far unmolested by any Walkers or Gremlins, despairingly rushed to see if his protector was dead. Grabbing the singed red robes, he pulled the fire priest onto his back, and recoiled in shock. Beneath the skin of the pyromancer's face, there was only obsidian, and his left eye socket was empty save for an intense, burning spark. Ignoring the gaping villager, he tried to move only to find himself unable. Perhaps his explosive gambit hadn't been a good plan after all. He swore loudly and colourfully and lay there, vulnerable.

When Calvartem heard the explosion he steered Shadowmane towards the source. He approached the alleyway where the pyromancer had gone before and saw the barricade of flaming wood. The Walkers which had been going after him had given up when their path had been blocked and instead went off after other, easier targets. While such behaviour would not be tolerated by other Keepers, this did not worry the Necromancer, partly because he knew they would be better suited to killing this town's inhabitants rather than a powerful mage but mostly because through the flames he could see the fire priest on the ground, clearly injured.

Calvartem raised his staff as if it were a signal, then he spoke to the fire priest. The voice was strange, hollow, as there were no lungs or flesh to produce the sound, and to watch him talk may be unusual as his face had no flesh to form expressions. "You may be strong, but I will crush you and your kind and whatever other resistance you humans will gather." As he spoke, the burnt ribs from the cow which had been shot rose out of the ashes and moulded into Calvartem's own ribcage, repairing the damage which had been made, although not the robe yet.

Then five Gremlins jumped down from the roofs of the neighbouring houses and landed around the fallen pyromancer. They swiftly killed the startled villager, claws catching and tearing so teeth may bite and kill. Then they turned their attention to the red-robed figure, with intent to kill him also.

The fire priest twisted his head slightly to see where the villager had fallen, reduced to a ravaged, bleeding corpse in the span of mere seconds by the devilish creatures that had surrounded him. Calvartem's words echoed in his mind. So, necromancer, he remarked mentally,you think me human. With himself practically out of commission, the village and its people stood as much chance as an ant beneath a boot, so there really was no point in continuing to struggle. That, however, had never stopped him before. "My kind are a different sort." From his splayed-out position on the ground, the fire priest mustered his energies as the Gremlins closed in, their large, disfigured arms all too willing to rend flesh from bone. The intense, minuscule inferno within his eye pulsed, sending out a burst of fire that ignited the rest of his body. The cleansing fire burned away cloth and flesh in seconds, leaving obsidian in its wake wreathed in flame. The obsidian man rose slightly into the air, his burning aura discouraging the gremlins from attacking. Once fully vertical and hovering a foot above the ground, held aloft by excessive warm air currents, he turned to face Calvartem.

"No human could pose a threat to the forces of a Keeper, much less the Keeper itself," he resonated. "Only a Rogue Construct could do that." Despite his intimidating, newly-manifested appearance, he was still weak from his injuries. Fortunately, as his knowledge from past ages confirmed, Keepers couldn't bear to interrupt a good, dramatic monologue. "I've traveled far to find a worthy master. Please forgive my actions and allow me to repay you with my service." It was obvious from his tone that words such as 'master' and 'please' were strained, but that he said them at all was quite unusual for him.

Calvartem's expression did not change, but this was merely because he had no physical capacity to change his external expression. Inside, he was quite surprised at this turn of events, that this was no mere mortal, and that he knew of the Keepers. He kept his staff pointed at the obsidian man regardless. The Gremlins stood back, snarling.

"If you really are what you say, then burn down this village which you have been protecting," Calvartem demanded, "But incinerated corpses are no good to me, so leave the bodies intact."

In the background were the screams and sounds of people getting overtaken by the undead cattle. However, the cows were now split up, and they had limited effectiveness in getting inside buildings.

The seam of flame that formed the former fire priest's jaw twisted into a smile. He had hoped that Calvartem would make him prove himself. "My pleasure." The bound bow reappeared in his hand, now larger and more flashy in design. From the air above his head, undulating with heatwaves, he pulled a special arrow. Rather than a point, it was tipped with a clump of lava. "You may want to stand back, and send your forces away. The fires of Conquest pick no sides." He loosed the magma shaft into the air, which erupted into a spray of molten rock when it reached fifty feet. A burning, torturing deluge rained down over the village, melting through wood and cloth alike and setting all ablaze. In no time at all the entire settlement was engulfed in a raging fire, its people screaming and crying, their last hope immolated before their eyes. Though often seared and burned by the hellish downfall, the people avoided the slow-moving lava for the most part, leaving them intact. With Shadowmane's speed Calvartem easily hopped out of the range of the rain of lava, allowing him to watch without worry of getting melted. He was not able to coordinate his forces to such an extent as to get them out of harms reach, and neither were the Walkers smart enough to actively dodge the falling molten rock, but the spray was dispersed enough so that collateral damage would be with-in acceptable boundaries. As the people ran from the burning buildings the Walkers and Gremlins charged at them and ran them down.

"Do we have a deal?"

Calvartem returned to where the obsidian man floated. He looked around at the picture of destruction approvingly, the amber light of the flames and lava matching the crimson light of the sky, the black smoke providing contrast and texture. "A being of your power would be valuable to have fighting for me, and worth keeping away from my enemies."

"Then it is settled." Conquest descended and landed on the ground, setting his height at a few inches shy of seven feet. Now that combat was over, and any likelihood of resistance squashed by his fires, Conquest allowed his flaming form to dye down somewhat, leaving only enough to properly animate the obsidian that constituted him. In the background, though, the blaze only increased in intensity, sweeping over the town and consuming everything save for the villagers. By now, though, their lives were being extinguished anyway, as the Walkers of Calvartem sought them out and put them out of their misery, only to rise again as new ones. Though very pleased that the necromancer had accepted his offer, Conquest kept his stony face devoid of any new emotion, lest he betray any hint of his devious purpose. In reality, Conquest had no intention whatsoever of remaining Calvartem's lapdog -he wasn't even a Rogue Construct, in fact- but for the time being this would have to serve. "As you can see your monsters have annihilated the townsfolk and recycled their carcasses into your ranks. What will we do now?"

"Now, I consolidate the conquest," Calvartem replied. Waving his hand fifteen shadowy imps appeared out of thin air. A nod was all that was needed to tell them what to do, and they dispersed through the town as the fires began to burn out and started harvesting stone bricks. "It is little use to slaughter this tiny town and not claim the power and control of the region."

Calvartem dismounted and seemed to just stand there, waiting and observing, with Shadowmane standing patiently in the dying firelight, his pure black coat not reflecting any of that light. After a while all the townsfolk were dead and the town was devoid of life, and the fires had burned down into smoulders and hot ash piles. He struck his staff onto the ground and all the Walkers and Gremlins too simultaneously found places to lay and the black light went out of their eyes. He waited a while more, observing the imps begin on the foundation of a tower. Perhaps sensing some impatience in Conquest, Calvartem said, "We wait until the task is done."

Compendium Entry
Conquest - the Immolation of Hope and the First Horseman of the Apocalypse. Known by no other name. An animate golem of obsidian wreathed in flame, with impressive pyromancy. Wields the Cremator, a bound bow capable of firing several different payloads. Previously masqueraded as a traveling fire priest of Caldor; now masquerades as a Rogue Construct in the service of the Keeper Calvartem.

Ifrit looked up to his master, startled by the sudden appearance. Though he had been unable to lull himself to sleep, he had fallen into a trance-like state of rest as he waited to reenter the world of the living. As the slight glow pierced through the murky blackness that surrounded him, he shook off the grip of that state. He felt a strange chill run through his body suddenly, as he was jerked back into his living body. The heavy form immediately crashed to the ground, shuddering the small chamber. As he slowly stood up, he flexed his obsidian muscles, glad to have been restored to his former glory.

As Ifrit regained his senses, he realized the smog that filled his chamber. Though it would be lethal to most mortal creatures, he took a deep breath of the smoke, feeling reinvigorated if anything. "Yes, this will do nicely." He replied. At the second inquiry, a deep laughter filled the smoke filled room. The smoke began to drain from the room, being absorbed into the cracks in Ifrits skin. "Yes. I do have a slight passion for savagery. What do I need to kill?" He asked, a malicious glint in his fiery eyes. As he spoke, he flexed his claws, the sharp talons scraping loudly against the rocky floor, leaving a rather large scratch.

The amethyst eyes leered at Ifrit's claws and powerful muscles. Yes, this monster was terrifying. He would play his role nicely. "I will show you," were the words that emanated from the shadowy figure. The dull glow of the glyphs on the floor was choked out. Shaige's glowing eyes disappeared. The darkness itself oppressed and smothered the duo. At last, when it relented, Ifrit would no longer find himself inside the cave. The two were now some distance away, on a forested hill.

Shaige's mass of pure shadow shriveled in the sunlight, evaporating into smoke. The keeper swiftly floated backwards into the sanctuary offered by the shade of a pine. It was dusk; soon the last bloodied rays of sunlight would vanish. So preoccupied had the keeper been that he had not had time to reflect on the Source's change. It had transformed some days ago, when he was atop the walls of Paterdomus. The fools there had thought it a sign from Caldor. No, the sun was stained the dark crimson of blood, not the vibrant and lively color of flame. This was a good omen for him, and a herald of doom for the wretched Paterdomans.

The shadow turned his gaze from the reddened sky, back to Ifrit. "We passed over these hills shortly after our escape from the spirit realm. You will recall that over there," the wraith gestured towards the distance before continuing in his echoing rasp of a cadence, "was a razed village, host to looters and all manner of other lowly parasites that would scavenge in my domain. Slay them. Spare only a few, that they may return to their hovels and spread terror of you and these lands.

When that is done, patrol this region for the next few days. Warbands will soon venture into these lands from the east, scouring the land for any signs of their little army that my minions routed. They will not be pleased to learn of my existence, or discover that you survived after that attack on their city. So slay those patrols, that the rest of their forces will be blind and unprepared when the time comes to seize their outposts. Do as I have asked for the next few days. I will seek you out with new orders, when time comes."

With that, Shaige abruptly vanished into the shadows of the great trees, leaving Ifrit. In the dungeon, more tribesmen had been changed into zealots. After overseeing the production of equipment for the first twenty-five zealots, Soran's apprentice had caught the gist of it and was promoted to forgemaster. The humans were now capable of keeping up with the growing number of zealots, equipping them all without assistance from the imps. Shaige had examined the metalwork. It was of remarkably good quality. The iron ore was smelted with an inordinate amount of coal, freeing the metal from the rock and searing away any dirt, yet still leaving the resulting steel black and laden with carbon. During that process, trace amounts of other minerals such as vanadium were used to strengthen the metal. The steel would have been brittle and of inferior quality if used in this form, but that was not the case.

Before even being hammered into shape, the metal ingots underwent several enchantments and rituals that the imps had taught to the smiths. Then, after being shaped into armor or weapons, the smiths engraved a variety of runes onto its surface before letting a single drop of their blood fall onto the metal. This demonic alloy, enchanted to hold its shape and not break, was imbued with a malevolent energy of its own. Wounds inflicted by these weapons would always fester and blacken, as the blades' thirst for blood was as toxic as any poison. The blacksteel, as the imps called it, was allegedly commonplace amongst the armies of demons. That only testified to its brutal effectiveness.

The Tormenter had taught several of the first zealots how to fight effectively, and now that skill would be spread to the newly augmented men as well through sparring sessions with the others. However, that did little to change that the zealots lacked discipline and knew nothing of formations or tactics. Soran was assigned the task of drilling the zealots in such things and creating a basic leadership hierarchy of officers.

The Tormenter, meanwhile, was sent out to spy. By commanding Ifrit to dispose of any scouts or war parties in the Mutig lands, Shaige hoped to both discourage an attack on his dungeon and create fear. If the Paterdomans and other forest tribes were afraid, they would likely withdraw all their scattered people back to their fortifications, in the hopes of being safe in numbers. In reality, by gathering in one spot, they would only make it easier for Shaige to wipe them off the face of the earth and leave no scattered survivors. That was exactly what the keeper intended to do.

The keeper personally saw to the augmentation of yet more Mutig tribesmen into zealots. The zealots' numbers were fast growing, but that would unfortunately stop now. Shaige needed to keep some tribesmen as workers, and all most of the ones fit for battle had already been transformed anyways. The nine imps were commanded to invoke the necessary ritual to summon more pain elementals, as Shaige still was unsure if his forces were sufficient. The Mutig tribe had not long ago numbered over a thousand, yet even then they were the smallest. The Klug tribe was the second smallest, yet even they had over one and a half thousand. They had sent out the looters to the Mutig tribe, and were no doubt the most hostile and annoying of the four other tribes. This made them an ideal target. Shaige needed to attack them in order to secure more sacrificial victims, test his army, and do a show of power to force the other tribes to join him. Yet how could he possibly manage to take a fortified village that had hundreds of warriors?

As he wandered through the cave city musing over these things, Shaige once again found his way to room full of broken idols. Pah! This only proved that his only followers, the Mutig, were worthless fools. They had not long ago worshiped the spirits of slain wolves, bears, and other wild beasts. It was pointless. Their tribal spirits had offered neither wisdom nor protection of any form. In fact, Shaige had observed those spirits roaming the spirit realm, just as stupid and aggressive as they had been in life. An idea suddenly crept into the keeper's mind. The shadow now knew how he would strengthen his forces enough to defeat the Klug tribe. The wraith vanished, flying through the solid stone walls and floors, down to his dungeon heart as fast as possible. There was a creature to be made.

Further training of Zealots: 0/5
Third Creature: 0/8

"You seem to have survived" were the Carver's words to Zadok, affirming the mental link but not affirming any confidence in the Anti-Keeper.

Some of my key physical attributes are speed and resistance, even in extreme environments, Zadok replied, although he realised that the Carver would be about as apathetic to his well-being as the Weaver had been, perhaps more so. After a pause, Zadok added, Your battle with the Ripper seems to be at a stalemate.

Zadok looked over to Elysium. His position had since shifted from where the planet was in its orbit, so he began to head over there. He figured that up here in space there was not much that could be done. While on Elysium he would not be able to directly aide the Carver against the Ripper, he would at least be able to keep the threat of Keepers in check and ensure that humanity would not crumble while the Ripper was being dealt with.

---

The Death Spire was about half way done when Calvartem spotted something approaching along the road from the south. He shifted position to get a better view, and he recognised it as the cart he had seen on the way here. They must have spotted his Dungeon, with the ominous tower, dead vegetation and the roaming walkers which would have appeared in response to their presence, and turned around to flee.

"Man of fire," Calvartem addressed Conquest, "There is a carriage approaching from the south. There is no doubt that they are fleeing my dungeon, and will try to go around these ruins and alert the nearest major city of my presence. I want you to destroy them."

---

If the Necromancer thought to protect his secrecy, then he had failed already, for a few people successfully fled the village before it was overrun and had made the journey north to Paterdomus. When the city guards saw the refugees arrive and recognised that they came from one of their towns to the south, they ushered them into the city and they were granted audience with the military leaders of Paterdomus. This consisted mainly of high-ranking fire priests.

"What ill news is it you bear?" a fire priest asked.

A man slowly and nervously stepped forwards. "Our little village of Garmsby has been attacked by a sorcerer with the power to raise the dead."

The priests of Caldor turned to each other and spoke in hushed tones. This news clearly worried them, and resonated with the recent rumours of similar events. One of the fire priests spoke up. "Do you have any information about this... sorcerer?"

The man trembled as he recounted events. "He rode on a horse as black as night, and he was a skeleton. He used a sort of black fire to make our dead cattle move again, which then killed more of our cattle. We fled the village to keep these women and children safe, but when we were some way away we saw that the village was on fire." At this point the man broke down, and stepped back to be supported by his fellow refugees.

The fire priests nodded solemnly, trying to contain the worry from their faces. "Go and rest. The guards will find shelter for you. May Caldor look favourably on the souls of those you have lost. And by Caldor's name we shall not let such an abomination go unpunished."

Smoke wafted from the being's body. His vermillion skin let off a soft glow, like that of a dying coal. His flesh smoldered, not from the conflagration he stood before, but from his blood, his inner furnace, his piety. With a burning and intent gaze he peered through the great flames as they leaped and danced, trying to discern their wisdom. The Anointed of Caldor remained transfixed for many hours. The augury had shown him much.

The cold, skeletal hand of a necromancer, slowly clawing its way closer to Paterdomus from the south. The fiery beast that had assailed the city's walls not long ago, being ferried off into the pagan forests to the west by some strange force. And then there was a great darkness. The flames had shown him some time ago the darkened caves where the infidel Mutig tribe had been hiding. With this information, the crusaders had been able to finally send an army to put down the last resistance from that one infidel tribe of savages. But now, those caves were cloaked by shadow. That shadow had been slowly spreading, and it now cloaked half the forest. Reports indicated that the army sent to those caves had simply vanished. The theurgist had attempted to illuminate the shadowy forest and catch a glimpse of the malevolent force behind all of this misfortune, but to no avail. Surely all these things were related, but how was one to make sense of them?

The fire priest waved a hand. The flames returned to their usual state, the augury finished. This was a vast subterranean chamber, hollowing out the basalt deep beneath the temple's foundations. The great pyre dominated the room, lighting every nook and cranny with its brilliant glow. The conflagration flickered upwards from the magma pool below with a deeper crimson and a a more potent light than even the stained sun in the sky. The Rhuax, as it was named, was sacred. Paterdomus' grand temple was originally a fortress built to guard it. Few knew of its existence, and nearly all of them were fools. They erroneously named it the First Fire, a gift from Caldor. In reality, it was the Last Fire, and Caldor's dying breath. They burned their ritual incense in the wretched temple above, letting the smoke waft up to the heavens, oblivious to the fact that their god right below their very feet.

It was from this ancient flame that the first Paterdomans had emerged, as gigantic magmatic creatures that burned with fire and barely resembled men. Caldor's sons had grown colder and smaller. Eventually there came humans. There was breeding between the two races. The Burning Ones began to merely smolder. And then, at last, their warmth vanished. The Children of Flame were now merely a myth, a metaphor for the devout. Some of the land's most powerful pyromancers still had a drop of fire in their blood, though they didn't know it. Hardly any pure-blooded sons of Caldor remained. There was only the fire priest that stood before the Rhuax, and the dozen or so attendants that never left this room, bound by solemn oaths to guard the Rhuax until they crumbled to ash.

With no small amount of reluctance, the smoldering man waved a hand over the conflagration once more. This time, rather than depict an image of a distant land, the flames molded into humanoid shapes. They were the Emberwights, the spirits of all the devout Burning Ones that had been cremated and returned to the Rhuax. The living priest pointed to one of the dead ones, beckoning it forward. The Emberwight had no choice but to obey the summoning, yet he was less than pleased to do so.

The priest's voice rung out, "You have seen what I saw, in the augury. What am I to make of this?"

The Emberwight replied with a spiteful tone, "It pains me to see you. Look at him, brothers! This is our offspring. How has the fire of our great ancestors been reduced to this miserable heap of cold ashes, that has the arrogance to address us without kneeling?"

The ghost's reply was not unexpected, yet the priest was still infuriated. "I am the high prophet of Caldor!" he roared. "I am fire incarnate! I am strength! I am divine. You are but only a miserable, apathetic heathen."

At the mention of the word 'heathen' the Emberwight went into a fury. The thing charged through the mighty flames, right to the fire's edge, and reached out for the prophet's throat with ghastly hands that could still sear stone. The prophet conjured some fire, and drove a flaming fist into the spirit's chest. The baleful Emberwight crumbled into a mound of ashes, though unfortunately it would be back next time.

The prophet searched the crowd. At last, he spotted one of the younger Emberwights, one that he knew would help. He spoke, "Grandfather, step forward."

The ghost stepped forward. His eyes had a faint spark of flame within, but otherwise he was alike the prophet in that he only smoldered. The other wights no doubt treated him with contempt. Having been given permission to speak, the ghost said, "You should have called on me first. The others grow bitter with loneliness. We long for our forefather's presence."

Slightly agitated at the lack of an answer, the prophet repeated, "But the augury. What am I to make of it? What can I do?"

The Emberwight responded, "The answer was already given. You cannot defeat the darkness, and so you have no hope of triumphing over what lurks within it. We long for Caldor. You need him, lest your entire city fall to the shadows."

The prophet answered, "It is said that if we attempt to bring back the god when the time is not right, he will die, and doom with befall us!"

"Look around you, boy. The signs are all here. The time is right. You have looked into the flames for a sign for so long that their light has blinded you, and now you do not heed the signs that it gives, out of doubt and habit."

The Anointed of Caldor's expression changed from one of contempt to understanding. "Not this time. I shall listen to your wisdom. I shall not be the prophet that fails in this land's time of need. Thank you, grandfather."

The prophet walked away from the Rhuax, and the Emberwights disappeared. The flame's attendants stood gawking in shock, not believing what they had just heard; though the solemn look on the priest's face alleviated any doubts of his seriousness. The high priest donned his ornamental helmet, a massive metal thing adorned with gems and engravings. There were no holes for his eyes or mouth. If the prophet's smoldering skin was seen, he would either be seen as a demon and slain, or incessantly cooed over and worshiped in the temple above, unable to ever leave and attend to the Rhuax and matters of actual importance. The priest did not know which fate he thought more gruesome.

Once he was fully armored ad draped with a red cloak that would hide the small puffs of smoke that emerged from the seams in his armor, the prophet ascended a long staircase. At last, he emerged in one of the lower levels of the fire priests' black tower in the temple above. In the small meeting room, seated around a table were several prominent leaders of the city. Lord Inquisitor Redfyre sat, glaring at some blue-robed water priest that had evidently came in lieu of Unda's High Priestess. Sir Toric, the commander of the city guard, was engaging in some light banter with Marshal Embers, the famed leader of the valorous Knights of the Flame, though it was clear that both were nervous and had their thoughts elsewhere. The temple's Head Savant, some fool that was supposed to be the prophet's foremost adviser, merely sat in respectful silence. Even without eye holes in his helmet, the prophet could see them clearly. He could sense their warmth, feel in it what they were thinking and what they wanted.

The others were already waiting for him. That was good, he hated having to summon them and waste his time waiting. The opening of the stone door startled the council. The rare few times that the high-and-mighty prophet did decide to come out of his hole and actually attend these meetings, he often at least bothered to arrive on time. The High Savant stood to face the prophet. His face turned to disgust as he spat out, "We have been asking for your presence for days! You were down there 'otherwise preoccupied' for a week, and meanwhile the sun turned red which is causing confusion and panic, our walls were attacked by some monster, the crusade in the west has been stymied because an entire host of elite soldiers vanished without a trace, and now there are reports of a necroma-"

"Silence!" the prophet shouted as he pushed the man aside with a blisteringly hot metal gauntlet, the echoing voice that emerged from within the helmet akin to the roar of a bonfire. Normally he spoke lowly and quietly to conceal that voice and took good care not to come into contact with any other person, though he now was not worried about hiding his nature. He had only decided to hide in his armor and cloak because he needed to make a public appearance.

Addressing the table now, he scolded them as if they were children, "I have seen all that the High Savant of and more, in my auguries. Your petulant attempts to waste my time with these pointless meetings and distract me from my true duties were always unwelcome, but now they are unacceptable."

The prophet paused to catch a breath. The gathering stood in shocked silence, as the prophet normally sat, lead the beginning prayer, said a few formalities, and otherwise refused to participate. This council was used to ruling the city themselves, and they were not sure how they felt about the prophet suddenly taking charge.

The prophet continued, "Send couriers to all the vassals. Order them to begin amassing their forces. Warn them that they may have to levy the peasants, if we still deem that our forces are insufficient afterwards. And prepare the plaza outside. I must address the public."

Ordering all the vassals to prepare their armies was a drastic move, and the prophet had not made a public appearance in decades. They could only wonder what it was that he had to tell the people. The councilors scurried off to do as they were asked, all wondering what could have possibly happened to the prophet to change him so much.

Rather than a closed space like the Compound of Eyes, full of frenetic, almost psychedelic action, Clotho and her constructs now met on a crude structure crafted from hive material and a large, leafy branch into a balcony. Though this place's position about halfway up the King of the Forest afforded it a decent view of the surrounding area both above and below, it lacked any semblance of fresh air or warm sunlight. The air around the King Tree had grown thicker, suffused by new gases produced by the strange organisms living on and within the wood, reflecting the corruption of the jungle colossus into the lair of the Swarm Keeper. Clotho had found there was no keener satisfaction than casting her influence over the world around her. Only an hour had passed since she had ruminated on the defeat of her raiding party in Virens, but that time had not been spent idly.

"Our foe knows of us and our intentions," she addressed Invicta and Baudrii without turning around, instead watching a group of Myrmidons sparring one another on the forest floor hundreds of feet below. "They are led by a heroine. The last foray from Virens to make it here never returned to tell the tale, but I do not doubt that the Biomancers will find me again." The sigil of their power -the viridian amber- was, after all, part of her now. "If this hero, this bold paragon, chooses to engage me, I can think of no greater pleasure than changing her into a monster as well. This time they won't send two dozen men on a rescue mission. We must be prepared." Finally, Clotho turned and faced her constructs. Her resolve was evident on her features, and the readiness to obey evident on her commanders'. She still found it interesting that Baudrii, having parted his fearsome carapace armet like a knight's visor, still had very human features beneath. Humanity beneath the insect shell was, however, a trait they did not share.

"Still, we must not let any assault distract us from our purpose. While we defend ourselves, Virens will send out for reinforcement and warn others. They will find new supply lines and organize their defenses. To allow that to happen would be a tactical atrocity." With a chik her stinger extended, a pinkish fluid seeping slowly from its tip. "The new alchemist hasn't been very helpful, but his apprentice certainly knows how to curry favor. She's twice as clever as her doddering old master, who seems somewhat mentally scarred by recent events. Regardless, my growth hormone has been somewhat improved, and after allowing it to be absorbed into the spawning chambers the rate at which my children hatch and grow will be increased to acceptable levels. I will also begin work on a third species, more versatile than the last two, and hopefully finish before any marauders arrive. You, Invicta, will first oversee the introduction of the hormones to both the Myrmidon Nest and the Antlion Colony before organizing the defense. If the Myrmidons are doing as instructed, this should already be complete. Baudrii, you will both keep anyone from disturbing me in my Heart and take charge of communications. If the alarm is raised, coordinate with Invicta to drive them off."

"That is all. Understood?" Clotho's wings perked up and resumed their rapid beating, and after her Constructs voiced their assent, she was off. Hastily she entered her Heart chamber and climbed into her newly-reformed Cocoon, where she drifted into the dreamlike state where she brought her plans to life.

The Carver was confused. Zadok had responded to a simple observation with an arrogant description of his abilities, likely in some puerile attempt to boast. The implication of having to even explain such things was insulting to the guardian's intelligence in and of itself; didn't this Anti-Keeper realize that such information was already known and unnecessary to share? Pah, the Carver would never understand these physical beings and their petty mannerisms.

Those feelings would have inevitably been sensed by Zadok, such was their telepathic link. As such, so no scolding response was required. Instead, the being answered Zadok's second statement, "An acute observation, and indeed more true than one would like to admit. It has been determined that a change of tactics are in order. At present, neither of our attacks are damaging one another enough."

===--_--===

Balon at last negotiated the black tunnels to where he had first fallen in. Admittedly, the giant had found himself lost many times and the fact that some passageways were too small only made navigating the dungeon even harder. However, intimidating the various creatures that he came across proved to be a good way to get reliable directions. Exploding up from beneath the black waters, his colossal hands were barely able to find purchase on the cleft above. OF course, that grab only lasted until the entire thing collapsed in a sort of mudslide, which did not take long given Balon's weight.

After several more tries, the giant was able to clamber back onto the surface, near the beach where he had emerged earlier. The gaping hole in the ground was now noticeably larger, though that security breach was a problem for the puny imps to worry about. Balon trudged along the shorline before many hours before seeing smoke rise from the distance, a telltale sign of what he was looking for. Balon's pace quickened to a run, his great strides making him terribly swift. As he charged towards the fishing village, spear and shield in hand, Xir'ain's words echoed in the giant's mind. "Do not kill anything," the Keeper had commanded. Well, Balon had no intention of breaking orders. It would be the spear that did the killing, not the giant.

===--_--===

Lord Rain scoffed in amusement. This human's stupidity knew no bounds. The man charged wildly at his foe from across the plaza, bellowing like a fool. The keeper's approach was more ominous; slow, deliberate, and silent save for the heavy thud of the warlord's footsteps. After a few moments, when the belligerent human had closed half the gap between them, the keeper hefted the huge axe that was in his left hand, and then hurled it. The terrible weapon glowed with dancing electricity as it cut through the air, low to the ground, heading straight for the human's legs. The man narrowly avoided the spinning weapon by awkwardly leaping backwards and to the side.

So the man didn't get torn in half. That was disappointing. At least his charge had been stopped, though. The axe continued to soar across the plaza until it flew into the stone building that the human had emerged from. An entire balcony collapsed as the axe destroyed one of the pillars that supported it. Bah, the weapon's enchantments would have kept it from being damaged. The keeper would retrieve it after he killed the fool that stood before him.

Having staggered back to his feet, the man was now charging towards his adversary once again. A cruel and delightful thought entered the Keeper's mind- using magic to boil this fool alive in his own shining armor! A lightning bolt materialized in Lord Rain's empty left hand. Without warning, he hurled it like a javelin towards the man. The resulting thunder shook the town square as the lightning hit the knight's tower shield and exploded with force. The man's charge was certainly broken this time as well. He was thrown backwards and knocked onto the ground; however, he was now staggering back to his feet, apparently still alive. No doubt his shield and armor were enchanted, sparing his miserable life for another few seconds.

Lord Rain was tired of playing with this annoying little knight. He snapped his fingers and lightning came down from the sky and struck the ground right next to the man. His enchanted armor prevented a death by electrocution, but the sheer force still tossed him about like the dust that he would soon be. The Keeper simply walked up to the man and began swinging his axe. It was all the knight could do to raise his shield, but as blow after blow from the huge axe was rained down on him, the tower shield was reduced to scrap metal, and the hand, arm, and shoulder that held the shield were broken.

In defiance, the knight tried to stab at his enemy. However, the man was laying on the ground and was now exhausted, so he couldn't even put enough force behind his sword to pierce Lord Rain's heavy armor. All he did was bring out the Keeper's ire. Lord Rain kicked the human with his metal boots, denting the knight's armor and cracking several ribs. At last, the weakling was unable to continue fighting and dropped his sword.

Lord Rain pinned the human down with one foot to the chest. Shock then approached his master, informing him that the rest of the townsmen had been subdued; all the guards were dead, and all the townsmen that had formed a militia were also dead. The Stormers and Bolters had taken no prisoners. The Keeper looked down at the prior lord of this town, the man beneath his boot. It looked like his wounds were grievous enough to knock him unconscious, but he was still alive. For now, at least. Lord Rain stared down at his defeated enemy, knowing exactly what he would do.

Ifrit didn't hesitate to follow his orders, galloping off. Though heavy smoke shielded him from the suns hateful glare, as dimmed as it was, the light still hurt when rays bled through, burning away at his obsidian skin. As he sped across the hills, propelled by his powerful muscles, a thick trail of smog was left, the dark tendrils slowly spreading their grasp across the land.

His feet scorched the earth as he ran, fury in his eyes. He let out a deep roar as he approached the razed town. Though nothing unordinary was visible to the naked eye, a deep whiff revealed all that Ifrit needed to know. Masking their scent beneath the smoke of fires that burned the houses were men that stunk of poverty and treachery. Yes, Ifrit would take pleasure in making these men pay for their crimes. He thought for a moment. What had these men done to deserve he wrath? He hadn't paid much mind to his orders past 'kill'.

Surely enough, as he approached the looters, he could hear screams as they fled, tripping over their own feet in fear. A deep inhuman noise filled their ears, as close to laughter as Ifrit had gotten. Before those brave enough to move could make it ten feet, their eyes and throats were filled with a smoke that almost aggressively tore at their insides, bringing them to their knees. Within mere moments of the smog filling their eyes, a dark claw cut through it, ending the suffering with a quick slash across the throat. Those who tried to hide we're not met with such mercy.

Like sheep, he herded the last living dozen or so men into a circle made of their fallen brethren. As they cowered, Ifrit let out a massive roar, causing them to simply cower even more. The massive monster stared down at the disgusting cowards below him, waiting expectantly for them to run, and they did not fail to deliver. Though Ifrit felt a deep need to kill them as they ran, he could feel Shaiges orders lingering in his mind- he was not ready to disobey a direct order from his master.

Ifrit was satisfied with his work, a quick walk around proved his methods were effective at removing those stupid enough to intrude on his masters territory. He looked up to the sky, now obscured by a thick pillar of black smoke that had made its journey slowly skyward, obscuring the sun from view. Perfect. Now the patrols will know just where to find me. Ifrit thought to himself, as he slowly staked towards the forest, where he could hide. The trail of smoke that followed him made for a nice little trail of breadcrumbs- though these breadcrumbs did not lead to a candy house.

Zadok winced at the mental reprimand. The Carver was right, perhaps he had grown a little presumptuous. Or perhaps he was defensive because he was no longer in command. He tried to put it behind him as he flew on.

A change of tactics is indeed required to overcome the stalemate. However, the question is who will change tactics first, Zadok replied, I am afraid that I myself have no suggestions, and I fear the Ripper may have the cunning to develop a scheme of some kind. Then again, that fragmented mind may hinder the development of any coherent plan. I can only guess.

He flew on, and the world- he had picked up the name Elysium for it from Carver's memories- loomed ever bigger. If you can develop a plan, do let me know. But for now, I will do what I can, and that is scout out Elysium.

Finally Zadok once more descended into the atmosphere of Elysium, and he levelled out his flight at a high altitude above the clouds from which he could see the surface clearly with his enhanced vision but was no more than an inconspicuous speck in the sky. He wished to obtain a mental map of the continent and what was on it.

Rather than instantly reply to Calvartem, Conquest turned in the direction the Keeper was facing and levitated into the air slightly to see for himself. Though this action did likely reinforce the image of him as deliberate, it did not take him long to make up his mind. "It will be a pleasure." With that, he abruptly cut off the continuous transmission of heat to the air around him to create the powerful, centralized warm air currents that held his magic-infused obsidian body aloft. The impact of black, glassy stone against earth was neither satisfying nor intimidating (he much preferred shattering the cobblestone of a ransacked city when landing), though when he broke out into a full-on run, his flames whipped against the air and left a trail of smoke in his wake.

This smoke trail made his approach to the wooden vehicle several hundred meters away very visibly to Calvartem. As the necromancer watched, Conquest raced straight for it. At first, the occupants of the cart, little more than toys at this distance, seemed to shocked to react. That, or their attention had been fixated on the raging orange glow over the next hill and billows of smoke where their town had once been. Finally, the men recognized their danger, and scrambled to escape the cart and make a break for it on foot. By that time, however, Conquest was in range.

In a bright flare, he summoned his burning bow once again. He loosed a searing shot into the ground, which traveled through the rich, dark soil like a glowing fissure. Moving at more than double the pace of the terrified farmers, it quickly made its way beneath them and violently erupted into a plume of lava. The earth rumbled slightly as liquid flame rocketed skyward, incinerating the men and setting fire to the cart as well as the mule shackled to it, before it returned to the ground in a rain of hate. As a whole, the spectacle was both deadly in its efficiency yet very ostentatious, much like Conquest himself. The Construct returned to Calvertem slower than he had departed but still in good time, leaving ashy footprints in the grass with every step. The Death Spire had risen slightly in his brief absence. "Too easy," he declared.

Enly’air had been waiting outside the closed off dungeon heart for Xir’ain to emerge, having finished her conference with the few remaining runners relatively quickly. There wasn’t much for her to say that she hadn’t already told the master, so she’d ended up simply repeating herself. She wasn’t alone as she waited on Xir’ain though. An imp waited with her, and after much coaxing Enly’air was able to strike up conversation with the creature.

The two were still speaking when the black curtain that separated the heart from the dungeon proper finally fell. A cold and cruel laughter echoed out from the heart, freezing the dungeon’s black water and sending ice down Enly’air’s back. She was frightened by that laughter.

A figure emerged, but it was not the dark master that had gone into the heart. The dungeon’s waters melted and warmed as the figure smiled. His laughter wasn’t cold or cruel but musical and infectious. Enly’air found herself laughing as well. Strange, the imp named Af was gone.

When she finally could stop herself from laughing, Enly’air was finally able to see clearly the being that stood smiling before her. He was like a human, but he was absolutely beautiful. His newborn skin was flawless, unmarred by age or accident, his hair was falling waves of gold thread, his smile shone with childlike sincerity, and he looked into her with his luminous golden eyes. He was dressed more richly than any noble, a tight suit of the smoothest black fabric embroidered with gold and matching pants and shoes. Staring at him, she knew she was already lost. He had her enthralled simply with his presence.

“Enly’air…”

She dropped to one knee in the dark waters. “My lord?”

“Enly’air… is this form passable as human?”

She looked up at her dark master. “Yes master, it is passable.”

Xir’ain nodded. Good, so his first attempt at mimicking the human form was a success. Now all he had to do was walk into the city and have a look around. The keeper stared down one of the chamber’s dark side tunnels.

Enly’air blinked her eyes shut and saw that Xir’ain was looking towards the imp that she had been conversing with while waiting. Af must have fled upon seeing an unfamiliar face emerge from the heart. True, the being standing before her looked nothing like the being of living blackness that was her master. His entire feel had changed, but somewhere inside this person she could feel the cold void that was her master’s unbeating heart.

“Enly’air, the runner?”

He was speaking in particular about the one that had tried to fight off Balon before she had arrived to join the fight. The runner’s body had not been completely destroyed by the giant’s rot, and she had brought it with the other corpses back when she had returned to the dungeon’s center. Enly’air pulled on a rope of black thread and a cradle carrying the body was pulled up from the bottom of the chamber.

Xir’ain’s new face openly showed its sadness. Tears like black oil ran down the keeper’s mask. “He was the first runner I created,” he said softly, unable to accurately convey the choking voice that should have some with his tears. Enly’air would later tell him that tears were not black like the water of his dungeon as well. He would have to hone his acting skills much if he was to fool anyone for any length of time.

But the keeper did feel something for the dead thing. Instead of feeding the corpse to the eels like all the others, he had had his construct carry it all the way to the center of his domain, and he now immortalized the creature into the stone surrounding the entrance to his dungeon’s heart. With the gentlest of pushes the runner’s body was submerged in the rock as if it was tar, and the rock flowed around it into the carved shape of the runner curled asleep around the heart’s opening. Xir’ain was proud of the being that had been his first true success. The eels were fine and all, but it was nothing like the feeling of taking a creature already made and remaking it as something never seen before.

“You will be reforged and reborn again when I call,” the keeper promised the carving.

Xir’ain turned to Enly’air. “I have more work to do. I only wished to know if this appearance was acceptable.” He laughed, and she thought as if the water inside the dungeon would boil from the heat. “Thank you for your help in creating this,” Xir’ain said, his voice unsynced with his mouth. The keeper returned to his heart. There was much to do before he left for Ensis’Lucas.

---

Enly’air emerged from the black lake and stood at the edge of the still water. She looked up at the red sun and fell back onto golden grass. Had the world always been so bright?