Fire. Death. The foul mingle of the odors of burned flesh and the waxy smoke of wood. That was all that remained of the battling archdruid and champion once Soran's fire magic incinerated them in an instant. The demon advanced closer to see his handiwork. A few scattered, charred bones were all that remained of the champion, his skeleton splintered into a thousand pieces by the explosion's sheer force and his flesh turned to ash. [i]Where has the damned archdruid scurried off to?[/i] the demon wondered to himself. Something rolled against his foot. The demon looked down in alarm to see a charred, wooden head.

He stooped down to pick it up, and examined the thing closely. Its dense, mossy hair had been mostly singed off. The back of the head was charred, but the face that was buried in the mud was unscathed. Still recognizable. The lips moved and twitched, perhaps in an attempt to say something, but no words came out of the detached head. Fangir stared into the construct's face, his dying gaze conveying an emotion that the general would never know for sure until his smoldering heart was naught but cold ash. Indignation? Hatred? Perhaps even peace, apathy?

After a few moments, the face's movements ceased. The spark in its eyes vanished. The great archdruid was no more. Soran dropped the head into the bog. Soran was wont to spit on the ground, but in death the human had finally earned a begrudged respect. The construct turned and resumed his wild charge towards the temple. Many more scattered defenders stood in his way. The first few he incinerated with fire magic, ending their miserable lives as easily he might that of a fly. Soon enough a few dozen pain elementals flew down to stamp out the last vestiges of opposition, sparing the general the effort of fighting his way through.

===---_---===

Shaige passed through the magical barrier he had created at the temple's entrance, the one thing between the thousands of vermin cowering inside and the ravenous spirits feasting on the life force kin outside. A great mound of rubble blocked the way deeper into the temple. The temple had suffered a fair bit of damage, both from the runic magic that had exploded with enough force to send Ifrit flying and from the false sun's violent explosion. 

The wraith gestured towards the loose rocks and clenched a shadowy fist. The debris glowed with a sinister red light, and then it came alive. Pebbles and grains of sand flew; the whole thing shuddered and shook, animated by destructive magic. The Keeper felt a strange sensation creeping through his form. Anger? Disapproval? It took the wraith some time to comprehend: it was not his own emotions, as he was rarely moved outside of his cool, calculating manner, and when he was the result was a violent upheaval. Rage. An inferno of hatred. Not a small, smoldering fire creeping in from outside.

This disapproval was resonating from the flow of destructive magic into his body. No doubt the Ripper was less than pleased with his rather extravagant displays of power when there had hardly been imminent threat. The wraith was amused, if anything, by the Ripper's fury. It was not he that had come begging for power; the Ripper had gotten Its little deal, and now It was doing Its part. He intended to more than repay the debt, unless this new ally proved to be too much of a nuisance.

Shaige threw his clenched fist forward. Where there had been a been a few tons of fallen stones just a few moments ago, there was now only a pile of dust. The wraith waved a hand, and a deathly smoke bearing the reek of death surged forward, scattering the choking dust and inducing a hacking cough on any ambushers that might have been waiting on the other side. The keeper advanced, Soran and the zealots following in his wake now that they had caught up.

There were thousands of them, people filling every possible space inside the grand temple. They had all thought of honor and bravery and valor, determined that they would never be slaves or cravens, that they would honor their fallen by fighting to the end with their fists if nothing else. Those foolish notions vanished the instant that they beheld Shaige. The wraith was not large, little more than a dark silhouette in the now dimly lit temple. The mystery, the inability to even see the great enemy that had destroyed their tribe. That invoked a fear deeper than anything else beneath the stars.

There was an air of utter silence. Collective dread. Impending doom. Shaige had an aura of power, a way of breaking the weak of mind and effortlessly imposing his will upon them. Right now, the wraith willed them to be silent. Obedient. At last, the air itself reverberated the judgement of their conqueror. [b][i]"Your warriors chose to fight. Noble of them. The strong will try, but in the end, the weak will suffer what they must."[/b][/i]

They were utterly in his choking grasp, shrinking into the shadows in frenzied terror as they expected a death sentence to follow. That was not quite what came. [b][i]"I have defeated you. By your own ways, that means that you are mine. I generously offer you a chance of salvation: life in exchange for mere death. Devote yourselves to my servitude. Give me the bodies of your slain. Then, I shall allow each of your lives to continue. Refuse, and your fate shall be much worse."[/b][/i]

Looks of terror might have changed to outrage, for denying their fallen kin the burials that they deserved was beyond reproachful. But what was tradition, what were the dead, when compared to the needs of the living? Given the current situation, there was no question to be asked. They took the only choice that they had, and did so with no regrets.

More quietly, in a tone that was more commanding than declarative, he continued, [b]"Accept my offer, serve in willingness, and your lives will not be so bad. You will march to my domain as free Mutari, for that is your new tribe. You are the Mutari. You are mine. The journey to your new home is wearisome, so you shall not bear the burden of shackles. You march as free Mutari. Those that betray my good will and attempt to escape will be excommunicated. No longer Mutari. Mere maggots, fit to be enslaved or executed."[/b]

[hider=Shaige's Stuff:]
[u]Forces:[/u] Soran the imp construct, The Tormenter, Ifrit the rogue being, 1 shadow beast, 100 pain elementals, 100 zealots (13 injured), 200 Mutig tribesmen, 30 Mutig druids, ~3,000 Mutari freemen, ~50 Klug slaves* 
[u]Resources:[/u] Thousands of fallen Klug, some corpses damaged beyond use. ~300 souls trapped in the dungeon heart. Good supply of high quality armor and weapons. Enough resources to support the Mutig population for a long time, but hardly anything was looted from the Klug to help support the thousands of new Mutari.

*Klug warriors that were successfully captured. Unlike the civilians inside the temple, Shaige has no intentions of taking the risk of keeping them alive. They will be taken to his secret blood prisons in secret and sacrifices.[/hider]