It was early in the day and the farmers were out tilling their fields, the morning dew dampening their boots. So as to be decent the blacksmith was not yet hammering away on his anvil, the amiable fellow giving his neighbors ample tame to wake up before he began making such noise. This fine morning the village looked beautiful and serene. Later in the afternoon, it would most likely be a smoking ruin littered with corpses. Already the forces of evil had set their eyes upon that hamlet, the brazen and bloodthirsty eyes of conquerors.



The Dungeon Keeper entered his sanctuary in the very back of his cave-lair, deep below the ground. The scarlet, glowing crystal that dominated the center of the room radiated malevolence, bathing the warlock in it. It was not such a bad feeling. He reached out to touch the crystal that was his Dungeon Heart, and felt its power surge into him.

Concentrating, he was able to see the scene of the village that was just outside his domain. The people milled about their daily work, while unbeknownst to them, death was at their very doorstep. In the woods right outside the village nearly all of the Overlord's minions gathered, preparing to conduct the attack that he had ordered.

The village needed to be wiped off the map; they were too close to the dungeon, and they were growing suspicious. Already several farmers had claimed to have seen horrors lurking in the wooded foothills to the south, and there could only be so many tales before the hamlet began to question whether so many travelers were truly madmen to whisper about demons lurking in the mountain caves. Not to mention that the dungeon was running low on supplies; they needed the tools and food that these folk had in store. Live prisoners were also running in low supply, and the various denizens of the dungeon needed such captives for their rituals, experiments, and even amusement.

So the Master had sent every last one of his champions out to sack the village, and even now he watched as they were moved to fully encircle it. His army was quite a varied rabble. Some powerful demons, a likely insane kobold, even a dragon, and then all sorts of other odd fellows... Sending every last one of them to raid such a meager settlement was beyond absurd, but some of them were growing bored. The Overlord was also interested in seeing how each of them behaved. How would they attack? Who worked together, if any of them? Were any smart enough to not get carried away by the carnage and ensure that there were live prisoners and intact supplies to bring back?

Hopefully he would soon have an answer to these questions. He was still not quite sure which ones were msot worthy of leadership positions and which ones fared well together, so he was keen to observe the ensuing battle. Or rather, the ensuing massacre. Stifling a chuckle, he spoke now into the minds of each of his followers, using his telepathy.

In his diabolical rasp of a voice, they would hear, "Go now, and end this village. Let none escape."



From between the trees of the small woods you hid in waiting, alongside your master's other followers, you can see the village. It seems prosperous enough, with green fields and many workers out and about. Nearest to you are the farms, small teams of farmers clustered about working with hoes, pitchforks, and rakes. They were better equipped to fight back than most of the others, yet taken by surprise they would likely prove easy targets.

Beyond the farms are many homes, and in the village proper you can see a windmill, an inn, what looks to be small temple, two granaries, a few barns, a blacksmith's hut with a forge outside and all, and in the far distance a manor. Perhaps in that villa a knightly family lives, with all these peasants as serfs. They might be worth taking alive, but then again, if they do turn out to be knights then they could put up a good fight. What do you do?

Emily stood watching the village, and had already decided what to do with them. It was interesting to see everyone gathered here, and for her, it was good to be able to scope out everyone that was present in the Dungeon without having the confines of the cave. Most of them looked not so good, but there was a few more spiritual creatures, and that flaming glob thing. And of course, the Oversexd Fairy Girl. When she heard the master's voice, Emily casually stepped out into the ground, and as soon as she got to the border of the village, stopped. Emily's finger then pointed at the floor, and a soft light beamed from it, before she started to walk around it, the light following and making what looked to be, when completed, a circle. At her current meander, it would take some time to cover the entire town, which would give the others time to do there thing. But, her thing and there thing didn't really collide, so the young girl was content to simply do her thing and let them do there thing, while wondering how many things could be in one sentence.
"Things that try to look like things often do look more like things than things, and things that are not trying to look like things are more less like things and more like things they are trying not to look like" she muttered, deciding that eight was a good number. She couldn't really think of another place to put 'things' in and the word itself was begining to sound strange and abstract in her head.

Twich was neither brave nor a warrior and he was fairly okay with this fact; The standard warrior response to a fortified enemy position was to charge it head first and hope enough people survived the arrows and the rocks to take it. Cowards made better tacticians on account of their desire to not die.

While this operation didn't actually require that much in the way of creative thinking due to the vast range of skills that the champions of the Dungeon Keeper and the fact that they were up against people armed with little more then pitchforks who didn't know they were coming, wholesale slaughter was something of a wasted opportunity.

Looking over what he could see of the target objective before the order from the Dungeon Keeper arrived, Twich quickly formulated a plan while taking into account that he didn't know the skill sets of those around him and the likely hood that they would listen to any plan he had to suggest. When the kill order came, the kobold let out a quick, sharp whistle in order to draw attention to himself before he started to explain himself quickly. "Three teams; Execute, Secure and Contain. Team Execute needs to head to the Church and the Manor; Priests and Nobles are the traditional leaders and rallying points of communities like this and they need to be dealt with quickly. Break or kill them at your leisure. Team Secure needs to secure the blacksmith, both granaries and at least one barn right off the bat. Team Contain needs to ensure that no one escapes and that the farmers don't rally around a sub-leader. Pick whatever team best suits your abilities and try to keep collateral damage as low as possible; We want to be able to loot the place when all is said and done and we could always use more prisoners. Go!"

Twich would wait until the bulk of the champions had broken off to do their thing before heading towards his own objective; To secure one of the granaries. Not the most grand of jobs but if they wanted to eat someone needed to do it.

Overhearing the kobold's order as they began their mission, Ekusha derived a plan of her own.

She broke away from the group and released herself from her corporeal form. The village was insignificant, but Ekusha had no doubt everybody would be going all-out to prove their significance. In that case...

Ekusha began probing the minds of the local leadership: the local lord, priests, artists, etc. She eventually came across a clergyman sweeping the premises. He had been at the church before dawn to prepare for ritual, and all he wanted was to go home and rest. He had devoted his entire youth to religious service under the priest, but he often faltered in thought, blaming the priest for his severe shy-ness and his longing for romantic companionship. Kill him.

The youngest son of the local lord played with the children of the aristocracy out in a field adjacent to the city square. Often, he was picked on for being small, especially by his own brothers. He couldn't help it, though; he was the only one in this group who had not yet reached adolescence. In their games of tag, he would be tackled and held down. The others would often laugh at the expense of this child, yet he would continually attempt to save face and play on. Now, he was it. The older kids surrounded him, taunting him to run after them. Of course, his little legs would never be able to catch up. But, in the midst of a gust of wind and a small pick-up at the square, he came up with another plan. After untucking the slingshot from the back of his trousers, the child loaded it with several shards of broken glass. In a flick-of-the-wrist, they flew through the air, chasing his tormentors.

Her plans would have had a more severe effect given more time, but it would all be in vain since the little village would be leveled by the monsters she would have to fight alongside. Ugh, she thought, disgusted that what she considered her art-form would be overshadowed by barbaric slaughter.

Umbra stood still as the others gathered near the entrance of the village. It was still evening, and the sun still shined brightly in the sky preventing him from taking a physical form. The others most likely planned on attacking the village head on, burning anything and anyone that got in their way, some possibly even taking the less fortunate prisoners. Umbra though had set his eyes on what he considered the real target or at the very least his only real target. A distant manor with likely rich and wealthy inhabitants who could cause a problem if they are left alone, even if they chose to run away they may alert nearby villages.

As soon as the Master had alerted his army to begin the assault, those around him quickly began to make their moves. The Kobold did his best to formulate a strategy of attack, others seemed to walk past him only focusing on the amount of destruction they can cause. Umbra quickly traveled to the manor ignoring those around him and traveling at high speeds.

Finally arriving at the large manor he was relieved by the lack of light within. The size making it difficult to fully rely on windows and natural lighting, but it wasn’t until he moved into the library that he noticed an older Gentleman sitting calmly reading a fairly lengthy book next to a small candle. He seemed to be the lord of the house, blissfully ignorant of what is going on. A mistake the man will never live long enough to regret.

Kor glared at the unsuspecting village with the voracity of a rabid wolverine. How long had it been since such a feast presented itself to him? No longer would he have to skulk in the shadows, desperately grabbing a quick meal and fleeing before he alerted the guard. No, now he would be able to languish in the joys of feeding. He had an entire army on his side to plunge the town into chaos, the perfect environment for a Darkwraith to hunt. Kor felt his red eye orb pulsating like a second heartbeat, and he salivated in anticipation. Surprise, numbers, and raw power were on his side; a red orb invasion would be perfectly safe. Then, his new master gave the order.

As the science dude was giving orders, Kor was already clenching the orb in his hand and a red aura swirled about him. He wondered where in the village he would show up. Would it be by an innocent maiden, a virtuous nobleman, children at play? The Darkwraith sunk into a pit of blackness that appeared beneath him, and within a few seconds emerged from the ground at the location his red eye orb had whisked him away to. He looked around for a moment to get his bearings, and saw the doors of a small temple about twenty feet ahead of him. Jackpot!

The villagers who saw him appear began shouting something about a demon as he marched towards the temple doors, but he paid them no mind. Let them shout about a demon while they could; they would all have bigger problems to worry about momentarily. With a swift kick, he blasted open the doors and saw his prey: an old man kneeling down in prayer, unaware that it was his own faith that had brought this fiend upon him. Kor gave the man no chance to escape, or even to call upon the gods for protection; he dashed at the priest, cutting down an innocent churchgoer in his frenzy, tangible darkness writhing about in his left hand. Then, that darkness began to glow bright red. Kor picked the priest up by his bald head with his dark hand and finally felt the nourishment surging into his body. Holy men were always so replete with humanity, but now this man's pool of faith was sucked as dry as a blistering, cracked, lake bed.

It was enough to appease Kor's hunger for now. No longer was he caught up in the fervor of the hunt, and his perception of the situation was now clear, his thoughts rational. He released the shell of a priest and watched with amusement first as he trembled on the ground, and then shrieked like a madman, charging around the temple looking for anything with a pulse to attack. The few people in the temple were not armed and were unprepared to take on this abomination, so the fled the building, crying for help. Kor simply whistled a jolly tune, grabbed one of the small candles that were scattered about, and let its flame dance along the curtains of the temple windows. This would only benefit the Dungeon Keeper's campaign. Kor's actions would distract the village's defenses from focusing on the invading force. Plus, what would it do to the town's morale to see their holy building go up in flames before any other?

Though among the trunks of the shadowed wood there lurked many ferocious monsters, an entirely different beast altogether hovered higher than the leaves. From her height Clotho scanned the village, identifying each structure and its purpose as she decided which of her minions might do the best where. Her thoughts were interrupted for a time by the squeaking of the kobold below, who fancied himself a tactician. Unlike the majority of her compatriots, Clotho willingly considered his plan of action, though she had little respect for Twitch in truth. Deadliness in battle and a sharp intellect were not mutually exclusive, no; Cloth embodied them both. Though she aspired to a leadership position among the Master's throng as much as she suspected Twitch did, she willingly conceded that his plan would serve the group well, if only there were more to listen.

As the mass of monsters, demons, and other servants of the Master surged forth, whether to set up a destructive spell, entertain themselves with pointless manipulations of the doomed townsfolk, or otherwise get ready to rampage, Clotho descended to Twitch's side on gossamer wings. Rather than touching the ground beside the kobold, she hovered in the air, her wings moving too quickly to be seen by any but the sharpest of eyes. “I get the feeling,” she chirped in a vibrating voice, “That few of our supposed allies will obey you. Their loss...it is a fine plan. One that I wished I had come up with, but I am more proficient as a field commander. You may rely on me and mine to form team Execute. Hunt well.”

With that, Clotho zipped off into the hamlet. Behind her shot a steady trail of hornets and flies, barely able to keep up with the fastest member of the Master's horde as she made a beeline for the village's sole manor. She dived through its window, reducing the wooden shutters to a deluge of splinters, and slid across the floor when she touched down. The nobles within the building, the hamlet's mayor and his two brothers, were at first nowhere to be seen. Drawn by the noise, however, one of the men poked his head around an interior corner, and within a flash Clotho's compound eyes had located her prey. With uncanny speed, she flicked the fingers of her left hand, and a blur shot out to smack into the brother's forehead. The shape resolved itself to be a gruesome, slimy, black leech, which wasted no time in attaching itself to the man's forehead and starting to suck. Yelping in surprise, he stumbled back, and Clotho appeared behind him, darting more quickly than seemed possible. She pulled her barbed rapier from her back and with very little ceremony impaled the man through his neck, instantly and mercifully killing him, and preventing him from being conscious of the resulting mess when she pulled her weapon out. A cry from upstairs announced that her insects were swarming around another man, and Clotho sped upstairs to meet him. Though this man had a sword in hand, he was afforded no space to use it thanks to the bugs biting him en masse. Still, Clotho fancied a challenge, and smacked his sword around several times as if he were actually fencing. “No, no, no,” she chided, flicking her wrist and sending the man's sword into the wall with a thud. “You're leaving yourself wide open.” Into the helpless man's torso went the rapier, and when she pulled it out in a visceral shower that left the brother wide open indeed, she found his heart caught on the barb. “Most girls only dream of winning a rich man's heart. Lucky me.”

The drone of flies in her ear transmitted the location of the mayor to her—the library. With great haste Clotho flitted down to it, zooming in through the open doors and bashing through the closed. A few seconds later, she'd arrived in the library, but before she ran her rapier through the back of the man's chair, she felt an odd presence in the place. Her brilliant green, compound eyes narrowed on a suspicious patch of shadow, one so thick as to seem almost alive. “Umbra,” she chittered, modulating her own voice to a frequency too high for the human to hear. She gave an unintelligible command to her insects, who began the process of seeking the manor's valuables and ferreting them away. “And here I thought I'd have all the fun. Are you going to finish this man before the villagers revolt, or do I need to put off the elimination of the clergymen to do your job for you?”

Narza trembled with excitement, staring at all the souls within the small village. The voices in her head were telling her to kill them, mostly. There were exactly 70 voices, 66 of them human and screaming similar things such as "KILL", "SLAUGHTER", "DESTROY", "DEFILE". Three of them were inhuman and spoke in overwhelming images and emotions. Blades of wind ripping flesh from bone, vicious waves smashing down houses and humans alike, sadistic shadows swallowing humans whole, leaving behind only unrecognizable crimson mounds. And the final voice was telling Narza what to do after, how to devour those souls whole and grow ever more powerful. Narza intended to indulge each and every voice.

Her ghostly body, weak to light and heat, would burn in the bright sunlight. On the way to the village, she'd figured out how to weave mist and wind to create a thick fog that thoroughly blocked out the sunlight. This dark, opaque cloud could hear a kobold issuing orders, but ignored them and rushed past. Narza had enough to listen to as it was, and didn't need another person to tell her what she should do.

Strong souls stood out more against the weak souls, and none of the humans had any especially strong souls. Narza's competitors comrades actually had the most interesting souls, but she didn't dare try to take any of them yet. Souls without a body stood out the strongest, however, like a lantern without glass panes. Narza swept up the "freed" souls first, greedily swallowing down and absorbing each soul as she came to it. Left on their own, souls would quickly drift away and vanish, so she had to act fast. Men, woman, children, all were frightened by the terror of death, and no soul's willpower was strong enough to last longer than a moment against the onrush of 66 and growing tormented souls.

Maybe she had rushed forward to soon though, as she'd pulled in front of many of her co-workers. Looking distastefully at all the living bodies, the farmers holding their pitchforks uncertainly, the children running and hiding behind their fathers, Narza swept forward toward a father-daughter pair and enveloped them both in her fog. Narza pulled the pair apart with a burst of wind, laughing joyously. Suddenly thrust within a cold realm of darkness and separated from each other, their terror spiked to new levels. Without a calm mind to resist her, Narza ripped their souls out of their body with ease and moved on, leaving behind two prone bodies, theirs chests still rising and falling, but their eyes only stared blankly at nothing.

The Overlord used his magical sight to watch the ensuing attack from above the village, as if he was one of the many vultures that were already hungrily coming to circle over the place. Twich was trying to take command and organize a coherent strategy. He would have to see how that went; perhaps the kobold had a penchant for strategy, but of course his weaker stature no doubt meant that many of the others wouldn't respect his orders. He would consider giving the kobold some authority so that his plans might hold more weight next time, but of course he also kept an eye upon Clotho. She was quick, ruthless, and competent, all of the traits that he approved of. She seemed a more natural choice, albeit perhaps less cunning, as she wasn't the one that had devised a plan, after all.

As expected some of the bloodthirsty and reckless of his champions went straight for the vulnerable farmers. Such a quick attack had its merits, though he took note of their lack of cooperation with the others that had held back to devise some sort of strategy. Their boldness seemed incompatible with the cool and deliberate forethought of others, though together with others of their mindset they might be capable of working together effectively. If not, perhaps they would be best used for solo tasks.

With mild amusement he watched the Darkwraith worm its way into the center of the village and then defile the sanctity of the temple by spilling blood, before proceeding to set the whole place aflame. Similarly, Clotho and Umbra were clearing out the manor. It seemed that the nobles there were not of the knightly sort after all. The quick demise of two inside the manor to Clotho's hand was somewhat expected, albeit still somewhat disappointing. It appeared that there would be nobody in the hamlet to put up a decent fight.

His attention turned once more to the small temple, where he noticed that a small plume of black smoke was now rising from it. Kor had already driven out the terrified masses from within and set the building ablaze! Hearing the screams, four clerics stepped out from a doorway to one of the village hovels, having likely been performing some healing work on the people inside. Immediately seeing the destruction and the defilement of their temple, the two clerics rushed towards the inside of the smoky building, looking for the perpetrator.

Their robes and staffs suggested that they were magic users of some sort, and priests tended to be learned in the type of holy magic that was most effective against the undead. If Kor had remained inside the temple long enough to be apprehended, he might find himself faced by two worthy opponents! Of course, others would most likely be quick to come to his aid, if he proved to have difficulty handling the two sorcerers.

Emily looked on at her companions, if they could be called such, as she continuted her curcit around the village. Few noticed a young girl walking around outside when there where people dying, and all manner of creature decending on them, which made her job so much easier. What also made her job, or rather what she was planning, was that one of the Master's creatures seemed to be stealing souls from bodies without caring much for killing them first, leaving empty husks in it's wake.

That, Emily thought, was very interesting indeed. No fighting, not sitting alongside, just taking like it was an abandoned coat on the wayside. If she hurried up, maybe there would be intact bodies to host, which would certainly help. A body ravaged, with no legs or a lung cut in half was not a nice thing to host. So, as Emily finished the circle she turned and faced the village, looking on at the carnage for several seconds before she called upon the power of her Fire Spirit to assist her, and flames blossomed in her palms a few seconds later. The thrust they produced sent the young woman skyward, in a spectacular display that would have amazed the peasants, where they not currently getting raided. Once she could see the whole village, Emily shut off her fires and started to draw. Lines of Light shot through the village along the ground, passing houses and people as they moved from one side of the giant circle to another. Slowly, a pattern began to form, and that in turn became a Rune. The whole, flying air-draw thing was risky, but it certainly got the drawing done a lot quicker than she had expected it to.

With the rune finished, Emily engaged her flame thrusters again, but she was to close to the ground for them to stop her completely, and with a startled yelp, she collided into the ground rather hard, kicking up dust and making a very satisfying - if it was not her that was making the noise - thud sound. She wasn't dead, or unconscious, just dazed, since her physical form was not amazingly durable. It would take her a small while to shake off the hit, and so for the moment she simply laid there, her brain spinning and telling her how reckless that last move was.

There are dozens of tales of what one man can do by himself and a thousand more of parties of brave heroes coming together to overcome all obstacles. He would like to think he is a hero for a different cause. For now his cause is death, Hades was his guide for many years while never leading him astray and for now the guidance had brought him to this island at the keepers behest.

Atop his summoned mount, he commanded it to paw up some dirt before he dropped ten silver coins into the divot then covered it again with the earth. He paid his coins to Charon before the fights to square his debts ahead of himself. Who knows how many lives got turned around by such a small find as a few silvers by the roadside in his lifetime of travels and leaving the coins before each fight? Perhaps enough to lower the river of blood his soul waded in.

Thinking about his summoned mount, he held out his right arm as one wand of willow wrapped in centaur hair glowed, calling four light horses ready to be mounted already set it bit and bridle with riding saddles. As well as two ponies for the small folk. They wouldnt hold up in a fight and they would only last a few hours, but that would be enough for todays raid.

"Athinar, Ekusha, Shukra, Torens. Emily and Twitch.

In his ear, a blood red pearl spoke with the keepers voice. Octavius would be damned if he was going to literally let anyone in his head, so he had worked with the other magicians to make a pale imitation to the dragonheart. All it could do was pick up broadcasts, but that was enough for him to get his orders to follow.

When the kill order came, the kobold let out a quick, sharp whistle in order to draw attention to himself before he started to explain himself quickly. "Three teams; Execute, Secure and Contain. Team Execute needs to head to the Church and the Manor; Priests and Nobles are the traditional leaders and rallying points of communities like this and they need to be dealt with quickly. Break or kill them at your leisure. Team Secure needs to secure the blacksmith, both granaries and at least one barn right off the bat. Team Contain needs to ensure that no one escapes and that the farmers don't rally around a sub-leader. Pick whatever team best suits your abilities and try to keep collateral damage as low as possible; We want to be able to loot the place when all is said and done and we could always use more prisoners. Go!"

Octavius was impressed, for a boom-happy lizard he had quite the sound mind. He liked the lizard and had made a pony for him to use to ease his troubles considerably. Hopefully it could return the favor.

I don't suppose you have anything in your pouches to make things easier for the rest of us?

As the mass of monsters, demons, and other servants of the Master surged forth, whether to set up a destructive spell, entertain themselves with pointless manipulations of the doomed townsfolk, or otherwise get ready to rampage, Clotho descended to Twitch's side on gossamer wings. Rather than touching the ground beside the kobold, she hovered in the air, her wings moving too quickly to be seen by any but the sharpest of eyes. “I get the feeling,” she chirped in a vibrating voice, “That few of our supposed allies will obey you. Their loss...it is a fine plan. One that I wished I had come up with, but I am more proficient as a field commander. You may rely on me and mine to form team Execute. Hunt well.”

The hexblade tipped his hat to the insect queen, someone else who wasn't so caught up in herself to follow sound planning. Too bad she wasn't more like tinkerhell, the bugs made his skin crawl in a bad way. With one less to do, he could focus more on the other things.

I'm going to take one long ride through the center of town to make sure all the others are taking up team 'secure' for the blacksmith and granaries or 'execution' on the church where you suggested. If everyone is doing a job without my help, then I'll keep riding through town to work on rounding up the northern farmers to work as team 'contain'. Take one pony and any horses they dont, you got two hours.

He waited a moment to see if anyone wanted to return the favor of the horses before he was off, the enchanted greatsword drawn and dragging through the air beside him as the hoof beats thundered. As he rode, he adjusted the glamour of his armor from leathers to those of dwarven platemail in his size of silvers and golds he had polished for a year as a squire. He didn't bother to run down any farmers in the southern fields, let them take care of those, he needed to get to the town center itself to see what he could do.

As he came to the center of town, he rode around once in a great circle while casting his spells to enchant and befuddle. If he could manage it, he would try placing his hexblade curses upon one of the priests to shake their resolve before his 'warhorse' rose up on its back hooves for an impressive sight. To all gathered he hoped to be the shining beacon all look to in a crisis.

"CITIZENS! Come to me! We can not win, but we need not die over wheat and wood. We will rebuild, but only if we survive! One and all, to the Dairy farm!"

"Come, come, we're already late, we don't want to miss out, do we?" Shukra shook his head, and double the pace of his march. Already below him, the massacre had begun, much to his annoyance. With that, he and the fifty orc warriors he had brought from his force marched down the hill, the men already breaking up into smaller units. It was a work of art, no orders given to make the savages do as he wanted. They'd been trained well.

The orcs, in their patchwork iron and fur armor, had assembled into three units: One of ten, one of twenty, and second of ten. Shukra did not even glance behind him to make sure everyone was where they needed to be. He knew that they were. "Team C, go to the fields and secure the crops. Anyone fucks with them, take it as a personal insult. Go." With a quick "Yes, sir!" the ten orcs jogged off, pots and baskets in hand. "Team B, secure survivors. Any and all that do not raise a hand to you are to be gathered in the courtyard, preferably unharmed. Go." The team of twenty left with even less fuss, though many were likely miffed about not being able to kill like they wished. Finally, he and his team headed towards the northern side of the village. "Ready your bows, boys. You'll be killing any who try to escape. And do try not to miss. I'd rather that archery training have not been wasted." The final team departed, leaving Shukra to stand just outside the village.

Clearing his throat and using a little magic, he shouted into the sky, voice amplified so that all around could hear him. "Good people of this village, cease your struggle! The time has come to rid yourself of your shackles, to become men of your own! Surrender yourselves to the orcs, and claim your allegiance to them! All under their protection will be under my protection! You will become mine, and I will keep you safe from the horrors that now threaten to slaughter your men and rape your women!"

With that, he began to stroll through the little village, to "save" all that he could. Life under him was better than no life that all.

As the man was reading, Umbra found a suit of armor and a large broad sword hanging on the wall inside of the library and decided that his best option was to possess the suit. It was clean and well made, but completely untouched showing clear signs that the man who owned cared more about boasting a collection that battling with it. “Much easier to rid of a man who can’t fight back” Umbra mumbled.

When he took his first step in the suit of armor it was quickly overshadowed by the loud sound of a window breaking downstairs. A small fight and what seemed to be screaming occurred and the creature who caused it was unwilling to waste any time, and rushed into the library. Presumably to accomplish the same goal as him. He was quickly proven right when heard the voice of Clotho calling his name. “And here I thought I'd have all the fun. Are you going to finish this man before the villagers revolt, or do I need to put off the elimination of the clergymen to do your job for you?” She shouted almost to antagonize him.

He walked over in the suit of armor, the man panicking due to Clotho holding a rapier to the man's back. “Yes” he replied blatantly. “But it seems you have accomplished that yourself pretty well.” He continued to walk closer to the man, his eyes rapidly moving back and forth between the walking suit of armor and the bug like creature behind him. “But you forgot to finish the job.” Umbra muttered as he stabbed the man through the chest, and watched as the life slowly began to slip away from him. Once the man had died, Umbra felt that he was finished with the Manor and quickly left the suit of armor, letting it collapse in front of Clotho.

Torrens had been itching to get this fight under way for days. Too long had he been kept in the Dungeon, fed by the measly warmth of chopped wood fires while all around him taunted an entire forest which he was not allowed to burn. As a consequence his power at the moment was rather weak, but fortunately he did not expect significant resistance in this battle. As they waited for the order, Torrens had been hopping around, pacing continuously, never staying put for more than a second. While a casual observer might interpret this as impatience, it was nothing of the sort. Instead, if he stayed in contact with a single point of the ground for even a few moments the grass and undergrowth would go up in flames and their cover would be ruined. Even for those fleeting footsteps the grass was turned brown and dry wherever he went. It had been an interesting time trying to get past the woods surrounding their Dungeon without inadvertently burning them to the ground, a task which would have been nearly impossible if he wasn't on such a low level of strength.

Then came the order to strike. He stopped hopping around, no longer caring about the small grass fire starting by his feet and was about to charge in when the kobold let out a piercing whistle and attempted to organise the group. Torrens let out a dejected sigh as he was reminded once more that they weren't to burn everything to the ground. It would have been so easy to gain strength by burning down the crops and forests and basking in the fires. However, there was hope yet, for there was a blacksmith in the town, and that meant a forge- a reliable and common source of searingly hot fire.

"I shall go Secure the blacksmith," Torrens declared to Twitch, and then dashed into town without even giving the steed Octavius has summoned a thought. Only once in all his time serving Dungeon Keepers had he been given a steed which he could ride, and that steed was a creature of living stone with every part of its body covered in enchanted armour which was impervious to his ferocious heat. This horse would have done nothing useful other than burning if Torrens had decided to ride it, not that he knew how to ride a horse anyway.

Once he had passed the fields, managing to avoid starting a blaze, his pace slackened to a brisk walk. Around him were the villagers, keeping their distance from the being of heat while fleeing from the other attacking forces, but Torrens paid no attention to such small fry. The others were dealing with the villagers in their own ways, stealing souls and sowing chaos, yet Torrens would gain pitifully little energy himself should he choose to burn individual villagers. As he walked, he casually lobbed a fireball through the open window of a house he was passing, but he did not stay to feast on that one small house fire, for he had his goal fixed in mind.

In his past times raiding, the blacksmith had often been his initial target if he was in need of more power. This made the following a trivial task. The blacksmith, having been alerted by the attack, had barred the door. If Torrens had more energy, he could have walked into the wooden door and had it disintegrate before him. However, he lacked the power to do that efficiently, so he had to be more creative. Up he climbed, on to the roof of that stone building, and immediately spotted the wide, smoking chimney of the furnace. He took a moment to observe his surroundings. The village was in a small state of panic. Octavius was rallying villagers in the town's center. A church was burning. A small orc army was marching into the village with Shukra demanding surrender from the village. All was going well. Satisfied with the progress outside, he jumped down the chimney and into the furnace below.

When Torrens landed, the blacksmith got an awful fright, for his own live forge was the last place he had expected the attackers to come from. He turned to flee, but a fire bolt zipped past in front of him, narrowly missing his chest, and cracked a stone brick in the wall it struck. "You will stay here," Torrens ordered, "The Master would probably prefer to have your skills than to see you die, although if you do not comply I'll kill you without a second thought. Understand?" The blacksmith nodded fearfully. "Good. Now, pump this furnace up to maximum. I want the hottest fires you can get." The blacksmith complied, shoveling more coal into the furnace where Torrens stood, or crouched more accurately, and then pumping the bellows.

From when he first landed in the flames Torrens had already felt vitality filling him, the hot fires of the forge deeply satisfying. However, once the bellows started pumping, the fires grew much more fierce and Torrens began to feast. As he feasted, breathing deeply of the flames around him, the coals burned ever hotter and more ferociously to keep up with the demand. Air rushed in through the opening of the furnace to feed the flames. No soot or ash was produced, since the flames burned all fuel so completely that any soot oxidised to carbon dioxide. And ever hotter the flames grew, until the very masonry started to soften under the extreme temperatures. Only then did Torrens slacken his consumption, for he realised that the blacksmith had been forced to take shelter in order to protect himself from the temperatures. Allowing the flames to cool to less unbearable temperatures, Torrens barked, "Keep shoveling! This coal is almost spent." And so Torrens continued to feed, bolstering his energy from the combustion of the coals. While keeping the blacksmith and its equipment secure under his watch, of course.

Narza was enjoying floating around as a sinister fog of death, but taking souls from living bodies was still more more tiring than taking from the dead. Unfortunately, using elemental magic to both kill as well as maintain the fog would be too taxing. I need something to hide within, a body... Narza thinks to herself, looking around. Her choices were rather poor. Big tough burly men, homely women, bawling children, and a score of orcs, all running to an fro. Nothing especially strong, interesting, or beautiful for the taking.

One fireball later and a toddler runs out of the a burning hut, crying his eyes out. It was a cute little boy, with short curly brown hair and preciously soft-looking white skin. "You're a cute one, what's your name?" Narza asks reassuringly as she surrounds the boy. To the toddler, it was as if night had suddenly fallen, the sounds of the battle muted and distant through the fog. He looks around curiously, searching for the sound of the voice. "Ugh, answer faster next time." Narza grumbles, tired of waiting for a response. She tears the toddler's soul free and absorbs it, finding the little boy's name through the haze of memories. Max, huh?

When the fog clears, the toddler stood perfectly, unnaturally straight, his eyeballs rolling around his head before settling. Been a while since I had a body, Narza thinks happily as she stretches out her soft toddler arms and legs. Suddenly, she's thrown forward onto a jagged piece of wood, spearing her squishy toddler stomach through. "Stupid brat shoulda gott'n outa mah way!" Growls a panicking farmer as he runs from an orc. Still impaled, Narza narrows her eyes at the man and freezes his feet in a block ice. "I just got this body! My first body for almost a year! I was killed, held in a cage, unable to move, for months! And just moments after I'm able to feel anything, you get it killed?" Narza rants, spittle flying out the mouth of the small toddler. The man falls on his face, luckily happening to dodge the orc's swing in the process. She clenches her fist and makes a yanking motion, dragging the man in front of her by the ice binding his legs. He screams and claws at the dirt uselessly as the orc watches in confusion. With wrenching squelch, Narza rips her body off the piece of wood and stands upright with the aid of air magic, her intestines still wrapped around the piece of wood. She walks up in front of the man, her intestines dragging along the dirt, slowly pulled out of the gash in her abdomen.

"See how it FEELS!!" Narza screams, ripping the boy's vocal cords. The man simply stares in abject terror as Narza rips the toddler's arms and legs off with magic in front of him, spraying his front in blood. Focusing on Derrik's soul for the bit of knowledge she wanted, Narza rips the man's soul free and places it within the toddler instead, inhabiting the man's body in the process. The man, now suddenly finding himself within a mutilated torso on the ground, writhes in agony, screaming the best he could through torn vocal cords. Narza laughs heartily, her laughter now rumbling and gruff from within the man's body. She focuses mana above the man's new body and forms it into dozens of thin icicles that pierce the torso. Satisfied, she devours the man's soul and moves on, killing the still confused orc with an icicle through the eye and eating that soul as well.

"What the hell is happening!" "Where did they come from?!" "Is this the end of the world!?" "Why have the gods forsaken us!?" These were the hushed whispers that filled the air of the town's windmill. Apparently a good deal of the village's population, maybe two dozen families or more, had decided to take refuge in the large stone structure after the raid had began. They had managed to construct a makeshift barricade for the door out of what seemed to be whatever they found in the mill, random pieces of loose wood, heavy sacks of grain, etc. About five men were pressed up against the barricade for good measure. The fear and silent panic was so thick in the air of that room one could practically cut it with a knife. "Mommy, a-are we going to be okay?" A young girl, who couldn't of been more than nine years old, asked the question that was on everybody's mind, but were too scared to ask.

"Well that would all depend on your definition of okay, sweetheart." A disturbingly calm voice answered from seemingly no where. With a gasp the occupants of the makeshift shelter looked up to find the sight of a crimson haired gentleman nonchalantly sitting among the rafters. "Though by mine that would be a unmistakable no." He said with a light hearted chuckle, causing more of a stir among the villagers.

"W-Who are you?" A older looking fellow said as he stepped forward among the group, a woman that must of been around the man's age standing close behind him. "Oh my name isn't all that important. What is however is the fact that I am offering you lucky folks salvation from the brutal death that awaits you all out side of the windmill." The deathly pale man said with a sly smile. A moment later the man vanished before reappearing in front of the crowd. "As you all can tell things are not going so well for your neighbors outside." He said, just in time for the sound of some poor soul to call out a blood curdling death screech.

The mass of people all herded together, more than a bit wary of the randomly appearing fellow. "What... how could you help us?" The same older man from before asked, prompting a chuckle out of the dark clothes cladded gentleman. "Well despite what you might think of my less than impressive appearance I am actually a quite powerful being." The red head said as he took a step forward. "I can guarantee that each and everyone of you will not only survive this day, but will go onto live meaningful productive lives." He said with another step. "All it will take is a simple deal."

"What deal?" The elderly man asked, holding the woman, who was behind him before, close to him. "Oh it is nothing really, I just want one little thing from each of you.." Just then the booming voice that just dripped evil rang out demanding the surrender of each and every villager in the town. "Ohhh he defiantly doesn't sound happy." The man said with a chuckle before looking back the crowd, who were now all at a even higher level of panic. "We will take the deal!" The elderly man snapped quickly, a look of pure desperation in his eyes. "Perfect." The fiery haired man said before snapping his fingers.

It wasn't even a moment later that the crowd was out of the village and in the woods. The celebration that fallowed was quickly cut short by the realization that they were all shackled together. "What- WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" The old man bellowed, looking at the red haired man in pure rage. "Oh it is just part of the deal, you all won't die in the village attack and get to live long productive lives... as prisoners, servants, test subjects, and whatever else me and my associates may need. Oh and just to give you a heads up, I may kind of own your souls." The man said with a chuckle. The crowed looked upon him in horror. "Y-You. Monster!" The old man yelled, only to get a smirk as a response. "Actually you mean demon, now shall we be off? The cave holding cells are calling and all."

As the group all argued and raged the red haired man simply chuckled and shook his head. "Almost too easy." He said as he began to lead the group. As lack luster as this may have seemed compared to the destruction of village, the capturing of so many live people was a perfect use of a demon's skills, even more so if that demon is one Azavarn, lord of the deal.

Kor clenched his sword and prepared for battle as the two clerics stormed the temple. Under normal circumstances, he would immediately find a way to retreat; a pair of clerics would be troublesome and time-consuming to deal with, but given the current chaos outside he doubted that they would be getting reinforcements any time soon. Plus, the building on fire. They were men in cloth, he was a monster in armor. It didn't take a genius to figure out who would cook first.

Kor flourished his blade, but then, rather than swinging at the clerics he slashed at one of the long, burning curtains hanging from the wall. He caught the top as it fell, and after a couple of twirls of his wrist he was holding a burning whip. He walked slowly towards the clerics, letting the burning end of the curtain drag along the ground, setting the carpet and wooden benches on fire. He advanced with the flames as the clerics backed away, pointing the staves at the Darkwraith. Then one of the clerics decided to begin uttering a prayer to fight back. As soon as Kor saw the man's lip twitch he swatted at him with the curtain. Reflexively the cleric went to block with his staff, and were it a normal whip the two would have been deadlocked, but this whip was on fire, and a good amount of his staff was made of wood. Kor gave a sinister grin beneath his mask as the staff caught fire and the cleric was forced to abandon his weapon.

The second cleric was no fool though and took the opportunity to attack. He channeled a spell into his staff and lunged with a purifying strike that would annihilate any undead flesh or demonic items on contact. Kor simply raised his blade and blocked the strike. It was a shame; this cleric could have gone far as a demon slayer with that kind of power and perhaps would have become a worthy opponent for the Darkwraith one day. But alas, Kor's sword and armor were both demonic only in appearance. The more-or-less ordinary metal did not react to the spell, and Kor could easily brace himself against a single strike. He did feel a numbness rushing through his arm for being in proximity to such magic, but that could easily be dealt with. He let go of the curtain and threw what appeared to be a left hook at the cleric. Suddenly, there was a blade of tangible darkness in his hand, and then the blade was in the cleric's neck. One down, one to go.

The first cleric would not back down despite losing his weapon. Instead, he took up a fighter's stance and prepared to face the Darkwaith with unarmed combat, his fists glowing with holy energy. Kor advanced on this opponent, blade of metal in his right hand, blade of darkness in his left. The cleric was getting exhausted from the heat now and knew he would have to finish this monster fast. He dashed forward, ducking under a sword swing and put all of his holy energy into a mighty punch that would punch right through the Darkwraith's armor and tear a hole through his wretched, heartless chest. However, where the cleric expected there to be a blade, there was now a rippling, black shield. His hand struck a solid surface of an indescribable texture, and then all the cleric could do was pray.

Holy men were delicious, no doubt, but they were indeed a pain in the ass. If that punch had hit him directly it would have dealt some serious damage to him. What saved Kor was the simple fact that he had been fighting longer than this man had been alive. His reflexes were quicker, his muscles stronger. A searing pain shot through his arm as the cleric's fist struck the Dark Hand, but before the magic could do any real harm, he parried the cleric's blow, leaving him open and off-balance. Once again, the Dark Hand glowed bright red, and Kor snatched the cleric by the neck. It was over. He felt the humanity flood into his body, and this time rather than merely satiating his hunger he was able to indulge with complete lucidity in the joy that was feeding. Kor would let this one live. It would be a shallow husk of a life, but the Master did want some fodder left in tact. This cleric was no longer a threat. He could no longer cast spells or attack in any semblance of an intelligent fashion, but he was still very much alive. Even the soul was still there; it was simply bereft of all humanity.

It was always nice to at least be taken seriously by some people, and Twich took the time to memorize those few that had at least listened to what he had to say and acknowledged them in return. While the red demon that said he/it was going to go and secure the blacksmith was gone before a reply could be given, the fairy was given a proper nod of the head and a "Good hunting." in return before she zoomed off.

The man that had summoned a pony mount for him was given a lot more consideration then the others, even more so due to his question for potions. After a moment, he removed a small vial that was filled with a dull red liquid from its pouch and threw it over to the human to hopefully catch. "Minor healing potion. Encourages the healing of minor wounds. Not much I know but its the only thing that I have that would be of use to you."

His peace said and his debt repaid, Twich mounted his newly summoned pony and sprang into action by charging down into the village much faster then he would have on foot. The combined actions of his fellow champions efforts was more then enough to ensure that the little kobold was more or less ignored on his trip to the first of the granaries.

Arriving to find the granary more or less intact and somewhat ignored in all the chaos, the kobold got off of his pony in order to make sure everything was in order and that the area was more or less secure. As he was climbed up the ladder to look inside and make sure all was well, he heard the sound of movement down below alongside rallying cries. Turning to look at the source of all the noise, Twich's eyes narrowed a little as he noticed that some of the townsfolk seemed to be trying to organize themselves into some last ditch defense... or maybe an organized attempt at escaping the raiders. Strength and numbers and what not...

Taking advantage of not being seen just yet, Twich removed a vial filled with something black from its pouch on his jacket before lobbing it towards the group. Part skill and part luck, it landed right in the middle of the group...

BOOM

Those at the center of the group (Most likely the leaders that the rest of them were rallying behind) were reduced to a red mist by the explosion. Those far enough away to not die instantly were deafened and harmed by the shockwave of the blast and peppered with the human remains of those who had been closer to the explosion; Bone fragments were nasty things after all. Those who were on the edges of the crowd and this escaped harm completely by distance and the meatshields that were their more unlucky peers turned and fled screaming from the blast, taking their chances on their own in their panic.

Job done in breaking local resistance, Twich turned his attention on making sure the granary was secure and everything was in working order. Once his task was completed, he would crave the symbol of the Dungeon Keeper into the granary door before going down the ladder again and mounting his little pony once more. If he was quick enough, he could get the second granary as well. Supplies were always welcome after all...