Athinar acknowledged the little kobold giving orders with only a grunt. He gave a quick thanks to the one that had summoned horses, then mounted one. The animal buckled a little bit beneath the weight of Athinar's massive body, but it would be fine. Already having begun to ride off, he cried, out, "I'll move to secure the barns and granaries."

Without another word, he then rode hard for one of the barns first. Meeting no opposition during the few minutes that it took to get there, he dismounted the summoned horse and then threw the doors open. Stepping inside the barn, he quickly examined the livestock inside. Two dairy cows, a bull, a half dozen goats...but hat was he to do with them? The mighty Athinar was no animal wrangler. He supposed that he would just have to stand guard outside and make sure that the animals didn't go anywhere and that none of the wilder beings on his side burned the barn down.

That was when he heard it: shallow, ragged breaths. A pounding heartbeat. Athinar stepped further into the barn and looked back to see him; a peasant boy had been hiding behind the door the whole time. With a cold grin, Athinar stepped forward and delivered a mighty blow to the screaming boy's head. He wasn't sure if it had been the punch or simply sheer terror that had left the boy unconscious, but it didn't really matter. Athinar dragged the boy's limp but still breathing body into the middle of the barn, where he would be easily seen during the looting that was bound to happen soon.

Then, Athinar left the barn. To his alarm, it seemed like some sort of ragtag militia was forming up nearby, and one or two had torches. Did they mean to burn down their own barns and granaries, to deny the invaders the loot? It didn't matter in any case, as before Athinar could move to break them, half of them were killed in a sudden explosion, while the rest quickly dispersed. Athinar looked over to a nearby granary to see a grinning Twich, the kobold having evidently been the one to throw the bomb. Athinar watched in bemusement for a few more moments, seeing Twich carve the master's emblem upon the granary door. As if that's going to do anything, Athinar thought to himself.

Noticing that some of the scattered militia seemed to be trying to flee the village for their lives, Athinar jumped back onto his horse and moved to intercept them. The master had demanded that none be allowed to escape.

Collecting souls was going quite well--aside from a few arrows lodged in the torso of Narza's new body, her vessel was mostly fine, allowing her to kill and collect souls without too much trouble. Her fragile young ghost girl protected from the burning rays of the sun by a sturdy outer human shell, Narza's mind and magic was free to focus on taking down villagers.

She would first trip or slow down a fleeing villager with ice on their legs, then rush up to the prone or crawling villager with the aid of wind magic. Once she was close enough, Narza would finish them off with a small but precise blade of wind to the head or neck, speedily cramming the soul down soon after. Even as she would kill a villager, twice as many more souls would pop around her faster than she could eat even one, as the Dungeon Keeper's servants really got underway.

One soul in particular stood out to her, adjacent to a dimmer, but still unusually bright soul. The pair of souls were on the other side of town, nearby the granaries. Intriguing, they still feel human, but are the brightest souls I've seen yet... Slipping out of the man's body at once and assuming her ghost form, Narza speeds toward the temple in the distance, covering herself in a dense cloud of fog once more to avoid a literal sunburn.

In front of the temple lay two fallen humans, both clearly identifiable as clerics by their iconic white clothing.(I assume anyways.) Disregarding the sinister-looking armored figure that had probably killed the two clerics, Narza billows around the dead cleric's body and eats the much brighter soul hanging around. Delicious! It's a strong taste that beats the other humans for sure, and the holy part makes it a bit... spicy. It's like spicy food. Narza decides as she tears into the cleric's soul.

The other cleric was still alive, but his soul felt different, and not because it was a powerful and holy cleric soul. It didn't seem as lively. This was because Kor had already taken the cleric's humanity, but Narza didn't know that. She envelops the second cleric and rips his soul free as well, savoring the taste this time as she slowly absorbs it. "The divine feeling is so unbearably hot, but that's what makes it good!" Narza exclaims. Her reverie is interrupted by a burst of freed souls appearing a distance away, accompanied by a large explosion sound. The sudden intensity of so many freed souls in one place at once was like a floodlight being switched on and shined upon you while you were calmly enjoying a meal by yourself.

Still carrying half of the cleric's soul, Narza rushes over to the scene of the carnage. If the clerics were like meatballs, small but tasty morsels, the unremarkable villager souls were like bread or pasta. Plain, but hearty and filling. And Narza was still hungry.

The scene rapidly unraveling before Ekusha was one of mildly-controlled chaos: communication was almost non-existent past initial contact, and every champion was putting on their own show, but it was clear to her that the kobold's plan was the one ultimately taking effect. Her own strategy was rendered obsolete by the dramatic entrances of her peers, yet despite her pride she could not afford to abandon the group if this truly were the beginning of the end.

'Contain', that's right...

Ekusha began examining the perimeter of the village, keeping an eye out for the fleeing. Knowing her corporeal form would generate the physical limitation, she kept on with her more subtle methods in her efforts to expedite the process across the boundary.

A mother, running through a field with her two young children, has a breakdown as she realizes what has happened before her: her husband, struck down by an infernal entity, never to be seen again by her in this life or the next; her friends, likely captured or dead while she makes her escape at their expense; her home, her possessions, her livelihood all gone. A mother, covered in spattered blood lays in a field in almost comatose fashion. Her children, color draining from their faces, lay at her feet without drawing a breath.

A coward sneaks between buildings, eyes darting across openings completely oblivious to the stench of fear that radiates from his nervous sweat. He's haunted by the screams of his village: their pleas for help, only to be met with torture as they see their fate approaching. The scent of burning flesh reeks in his nose and mouth, undying no matter how many turns he takes or how far he runs. The scene of scattered body parts burns itself into his retinas. His quiet, peaceful village has turned into a nightmare, one he can never escape from. The next corner he turns, he spies a severed arm still desperately clenching a butcher's knife. Kill... With shaky palms, he forces from it's grasp. ...yourself. In a single motion, he swings it at his neck. The knife falls to the ground and blood sprays across the street. Both hands are clenching the wound, panic sets in, and he begins sloppily running as though seeking help. As all his mental trauma becomes trivialized, regrets overwhelms him.

A few villagers, who moments ago carried brave and dutiful hearts, now flee for their lives after bearing witness to an explosion tearing through their brethren. Fear consumes them; instinct takes effect; self-preservation becomes priority number one. Stand and fight, or run and die. One man begins struggling with his comrades, insisting that their attempts at escaping will be futile. The other wishes to run, but the man argues their odds are greater in battle. A fight ensues, and the other would-be soldiers attempt to break-up the altercation. However, it only escalates, and their grand display of impassioned foolishness turns into blind anger, initially against one another, fueled by their assailants.

Emily slowly got up from the ground after smashing into it, and clutched her head. She'd need something with more instant thrust, to go along with the sustained flight. But for now, she needed to get doing before they overzealous creatures ripped apart so many bodies it wasn't worth doing this at all. Healing and reconstruction where very low on her list of things she could do, and she had no plans to start now. The stench of smoke and death filled the village now, and the villages scattered where they did not lay dying or dead. This was no challenge, it was simply a massacure, and Emily felt slightly repulsed by the idea. Sure she was a creation of an evil Dungeon Keeper designed to enslave the world and all that jazz, but that didn't mean she went around killing people for the sake of killing them. It was with that in mind that she started, so she could avoid more death. A corpse was little good to anyone, unless it was a well kept corpse.

As Emily placed her palm on one of the shining lines that intercected the village, it turned from white and barely visible, to a deep Flame Red, and hard to miss, even when one was running for their life, or caught up butchering for butcher's sake. Once the whole Rune had been turned, she took a breath and began to sing. Her words resonated throughout the village, and missed narry an ear, or demonic equivilent as she started. At the start, it was just a simple hum, but then powerful music flew from the rune, and filled the area as she sung.
"We've been seeing what you wanted, got us cornered right now, fallen asleep from our vanity, might cost us our lives. I hear they're getting closer, their howls are sending chills down my spine. And time is running out now. They're coming down the hills from behind. When we start killing It's all coming down right now. From the nightmare we've created, I want to be awakened somehow"

The Rune pulsated with her words, growing, and those who could percieve the spiritual world and Souls would see a large mass coming up from below it.

Well that royally failed! He had hoped to be a rallying point for all the others co come to, but the slaughter would be complete soon, bodies dying too quickly and souls snatched up before anything else could be done. The manor was deathly quiet from the moment the queen took off for it so no malitia would come from there. and even the kobold who wanted to secure people just blew a handful to bits.

The blacksmith was secured and the granaries were safe. The temple and the manor were both finished. All that was left now was the rounding up the runners. Not abandoning his paladin illusion, he tore off north and tried to maintain the rally cry to get everyone safe at the barn. It may not be much to do, but he was certain he was the only human in the group so he had to play within his limits. It was how he survived for so long.

Clotho smirked as she spectated Umbra's fascination with the old man's death. She held the shadowy creature in low regard, a being swaddled in apathy and too fixated upon his own wants to ever grow into something more significant. If a being couldn't rouse itself to care about anything, it could never rise farther than the lowliest peon. Not sharing his lustful enthusiasm for killing, the swarm queen began to leave, her bugs already having robbed the house of most of its valuables. “I thought I'd let one of the Master's lesser servants have a kill. Don't let it go to your head, eidolon.” By the time Umbra vacated the armor to let it tumble noisily to the floor, Clotho had already bugged out.

Leaving through the same window by which she'd entered, Clotho shot upward to a vantage point in order to scope out the hamlet's current status. She found it almost wiped out already, many bodies laying dead in the streets, structures bombed, and a plume of unnaturally hot air coming from the blacksmith. A bunch of surviving villagers holed up in the windmill had been transported to the woods and bound in shackles by one of her demonic allies. Already it seemed that the local temple had been sacked by dark forces seeking to prey on the priests' piety, so there was little to do there. Other various monsters were pursuing and easily taking down the few villagers remaining that had fled. Furthermore, an ill feeling was gathering throughout the place, one that Clotho could dimly trace to the young Emily. Judging by the arcane rune inscribed before her, the sorceress planned to unleash some sort of spell. If it didn't level every building, Clotho decided, she'd be surprised. Emily was a lot of power crammed into a deceptively small and unassuming body, and with her array of Sung Spirits and prowess with fire, she was one of the stronger members of the Master's horde. Not wanting to stick around and risk immolation, Clotho scanned the village's perimeter and beheld a twitching patch of grass within a foxhole, where no wind should have been able to reach it.

In a flash, Clotho dove from her vantage point and alighted on the lip of the foxhole. She placed her palm onto the ground, transmitting instruction, and a moment later a mass of earthworms jammed together into a single, huge amalgamation burst from the ground beneath the patch of grass. As it climbed into the air, it carried with it an old man. His face was wrinkled with laugh lines and adorned with bushy gray eyebrows, but it held less fear than Clotho might expect. The swarm queen tilted her head. “You're a clever one. By fleeing on your own, slowly and hidden, you escaped the sight of the brutes and the senses of the spirits, who chased down more tumultuous targets.” She looked at his getup, believing that she recognized it. “You are the village alchemist, no? I have been searching for a human who'd be able to aid me. I am always seeking to expand my knowledge of toxins, chitin, and magical substances, you see. Judging from your collected composition, you are not a coward...merely a man who wishes to live, as all do. I can offer you protection if you can offer me your complete compliance. Of course, this is not optional.” So saying, Clotho sheathed her rapier and grabbed the man beneath his shoulders. She flew with him to where Azavarn's captives stood, and deposited him among the others. She landed next to the scarlet-haired demon. “Greetings. This man will serve me. Pick him a younger assistant and send both to my hive when we return to the Dungeon, or find a subordinate to do it if you are not so inclined. Must I offer you something in return for this service?” Clotho meant the question more as a jape than anything, given Azavarn's nature, but there was always the chance that he'd demand something of her for even something as small as this.

As Twich was on his way to check out the second granary, his pony came to a stop and reared as the ground around them started to glow a bright red... and singing voices filled the air. Clinging to the pony for dear life, Twich's mind quickly started to go through the few pieces of magic theory he had deemed fit to study out of curiosity and enjoyment back in the day and was quickly coming up blank. Sure, he had picked up a few useful pieces of information but magic wasn't his passion and he wasn't one to use it.

There was no way in all the underworld that this was being cast by any of the villagers... They would have seen evidence of such a powerful spell caster long before they arrived! So clearly it was one of his allies that was casting it. Surely they wouldn't cast something that would wipe out the village and everything in it before their allies could loot everything of value and vacate the place surely?

That line of through died very quickly in Twich's brain as he reconsidered who his so called 'allies' were and an old saying of his tribe; 'You couldn't have been my ally, you made such a good target!'

Twich directed the pony towards the nearest exit to the village and made it bolt as fast as it could go, clinging to it because his life might depend on staying on the bloody thing. The supplies would be fine provided someone didn't freaking magically purge the place from the face of the earth. If they did, he would very much rather be outside the glowing red circle of death so that the loss of the supplies would actually be a problem worth worrying about.

Since mostly no one could tell that Narza was absorbing souls, it probably just looked like a small cloud was floating from corpse to corpse. The puffy white cloud stops abruptly above a man missing his lower torso and head. Shining lines flared up from the ground, pulsing with music and magic that even the rather inexperienced Narza could feel was dangerous. Moments later, she felt an incomparably huge something rising up from deep below the Earth. She couldn't believe what she was feeling. It was some sort of soul or spirit, but completely different from anything she'd ever felt. Grabbing the rest of the souls from the crowd of humans gibbed by the alchemical blast, Narza flees to the outskirts of the village as fast as she could fly. She didn't know what was going to happen, but the red light from the rune-lines indicated fire, and fire was not one of Narza's strong suits.

"The only thing I need from you is the time I should pick you up for dinner, my oh so lovely butterfly." Azavarn said in his suave tone, a sly smirk placed upon his lips. His crimson eyes scanned over his insectoid ally as he let out a slight chuckle, before he turned his attention to the man that was added to his herd of ill gotten 'goods'. His gaze fell upon a young girl who whimpering softly into the bosom of her mother. "You should do nicely." He said before he snapped his fingers and the shackles that bound the girl to her mother vanished and were replaced with a new set that connected to the pair that were now on Clotho's pet alchemist. The demonic man looked out over what was once a village, now being little more than a oversized bonfire. He admired his comrades efforts as much as he could, observing the unique brand of destruction and mayhem each one wrought upon the innocent villagers. "You have to admire their enthusiasm. Like children at play, so much energy and potential, yet no real direction." He spoke half to himself and half to the so called bug queen. "They could use a bit more finesse if you ask me. Though who am I to talk? I after all don't use geyser of worms now do I?" He said with a devilish chuckle.

While others were out making a slaughter of the village, Shukra was lifting burning and collapsed buildings off of trapped humans, kicking away bloodthirsty minions, and overall making himself look like the least evil creature among the horde that had come down into the village. Once or twice he'd even punched out one of his own orcs, just to push home the point that any who could be saved would be. In all honesty, he almost wished that he could let some go, just to spread the tales of both horror and heroism throughout the southern half of the continent. But, orders were orders, after all, and nothing more could be done of it.

So, once he had collected himself eight men, two women, and one child. However, now, he came across a group of fleeing militiamen. When they saw the group of villagers following him around like lost puppies, they rose their weapons at him. Shukra shook his head, and said, "Don't do this. You'll be throwing your lives away." Of course, calm and reasonable words were no where near enough to calm angry, desperate people. So, when the first man charged and his poorly crafted spear broke against Shukra's armor, the rakshasa's hand darted out and crushed the man's skull with a single punch. The second of the five came at him with a sword, which the tiger blocked with the backside of his gauntlet, the edge of the iron cracking against it. His maw opened, revealing his sharp teeth, and a stream of fire came out with his breath, incinerating the human.

The other three immediately threw down their weapons and turned to flee, but by this point just as many orcs had appeared, brandishing their weapons. They turned back to Shukra, who was standing there with his arms spread and a smile on his face. "Well, now that that is over, how about we just calmly file in with the others so that you get to continue your lives elsewhere. At least I will not force you all into slavery for someone else's amusement." Considering their options, it was not much of a surprise that they filed in with the the rest. Shukra looked around at the devastated village, and finally noticed the giant rune being formed.

He let out a growl, then called out through the village, "All orcs, return to the hills! Our work here is done." With that, he began marching his men out of the ruins, through the fields that were still being stripped by his Team C. He considered letting them finish, but it had been, what, twenty minutes? Between the ten of them, they'd filled up about six of their baskets, so he ordered them to come on out as well. By the time he reached the top of the hill, Team's A and C had arrived with him, and half of Team B had as well, bringing with them five more women and two more children.

All in all, he considered this a success. Seven women, three children, and eleven men. All of which he could use for something or another.

Athinar rode the horse hard, barely noting the kobold fleeing with a 'twitch' of his peripherals. Releasing the reins, he stood up in the saddle, as he came alongside the villagers, who looked up at the massive mans form with hope, however brief it was. Jumping away from the horse, he landed on top of a man's shoulders, forcing him to the ground, and shattering the collarbone, forcing him to writhe in agony, struggling for breath as his heart pumped blood through a broken body. Grinning beneath his mask, he simply stood next to the man's shattered form as the militia, shocked, came towards him in rage, fear, desperation. After all, he was only one man, right?

Athinar inhaled. A man on the right. Sword. Swinging wildly. Easily deflecting it with the palm of his hand, Athinar grabbed the man's neck, and crushing his windpipe in his massive hand, Athinar knocked him unconscious with a headbutt, leaving him to suffocate to death. Not what Athinar would have wanted, but the Master would value efficiency over pleasure. Licking his lips, Athinar grinned. That would come later.

The ragtag militia came to a halt, staring at this man who had made short work of two of their companions. The remaining twelve stood in despair. How would they face this man? Athinar, obviously displeased by what he had to do, raised his ice cold voice, chilling them to the bone. "You will drop your weapons. You will not try to attack me, or escape. Then, you will follow me, wearing these." Athinar held up a long chain of shackles that the Master had given him, ordering him to capture as many as possible. The Master saw that Athinar was displeased by the order, but he would follow it to the letter. Then, a balding man, holding a spear, charged him, howling, despite his companion's objections. Grinning, Athinar fell into rock style, and then dodged the spear as it was thrust at him. Shattering it with a massive forearm, he could smell the man's fear. See it in his eyes. It was delicious. Relishing what came next, Athinar punched the man in the face, knocking him backwards.

The man began to fall down, but Athinar grabbed his shoulder, pulling him towards him. Pulling his fist back, he smashed the little man's face in over and over again with his gauntlet, until it was little more than a meaty paste. Dropping the corpse in front of his companions, Athinar let out a little shiver of excitement. He didn't expect that, but it was welcome. Turning to the others wildly, he held up the chain. They came willingly.

Athinar called the horse back, and stood at the head of the chain of captives, looking how the iridescent crimson glowed on his gauntlet, when he realized, the blood wasn't the only red thing in the area. A massive, glowing rune appeared in the village proper. Staring, Athinar thought it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw. It was the color of gushing, pouring, holy, blood.

Kor emerged from the burning temple with his appetite satisfied from feasting on the humanity of two holy men. The scene he witnessed was... nice. Blood pouring through the streets, the delightful melodies of anguish and terror wafting through the air, and a rather lovely looking rune glowing ominously in the middle of it all. Such bedlam was a lullaby for his twisted soul. Alas, it seemed as though things were wrapping up. Already the peasants were being rounded up and lead away as captives, and any real resistance had been crushed. Oh well, he may as well grab a prisoner like he saw the others doing.

Kor clotheslined one of the last stragglers that was running away from some other horror, and then picked up the man by his throat. "I always wondered what the point of keeping prisoners was," he said as the man futilely kicked against the Darkwraith's armor in a desperate attempt to break free. "If you're hungry, eat. If not, just kill it, am I right?" The man could only give a garbled response, and then fell limp. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me! I wasn't even squeezing that hard!" With a sigh, Kor simply ran his sword through the man's torso and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. Eventually Kor met up with the line of prisoners that Athinar was leading, genuinely impressed by the man's efficiency at rounding them up. Some of the humans gave a horrified look at the fresh corpse whose blood and guts were dripping down his skeletal armor and leaving a crimson trail in his wake. Kor grinned beneath his helmet and said aloud, "Geez, its like they've never witnessed an impalement before."

Torrens had been having such a good time, lavishing in the temperatures of the blacksmith's furnace, that he had completely lost track of time. At one point Octavius had popped by briefly to check that the blacksmith had been secured, but despite that brief interruption Torrens may have sat there until all the coal in the house had been consumed, if beautifully sung lyrics didn't drift their way across the entire village. Torrens took it as a wake-up call, and finally crawled out of the furnace and stepped into the room proper. He was in much better condition than at the start of the raid. His skin had gone from a dull to a bright shade of red. The stones beneath his feet were already red-hot after only a few moments of contact. And his incandescence was visible, like that of hot coals.

The blacksmith backpedaled away from Torrens as he walked ahead, in case the demon had decided to turn on him, but Torrens instead went for the door and opened it, leaving a blackened imprint of his hand about a centimeter deep in the wood. He poked his head outside and looked both ways, and discovered that the raid was almost at a close. There were bodies down the main road, some with mortal wounds or mutilation, others just stone cold dead, some unhurt but unconscious and unmoving. The other raiders were leaving the village, with prisoners in tow, and some raiders were leaving the village in a great hurry. And near the center of the village stood Emily, facing away from him and singing next to part of the giant glowing red rune which encircled the whole village. He had noticed, when he was standing on the roof, Emily doing something flying around the village shooting lines onto the ground, so he figured this must be it.

Torrens stepped out of the blacksmith's and motioned for his captive to follow. "I think we're done here. You go join that lot over there," Torrens said to the blacksmith, pointing to the group of prisoners being led out of the village by Athinar, "Hurry over, surrender yourself to them, and you should be fine. Tell them that Torrens the fire demon sent you. If you flee, they'll murder you. Run along now." Left with no real option, the blacksmith hurried to catch up with the group of prisoners being led by Athinar.

Torrens, on the other hand, turned and walked towards Emily. There was no rush. No panic. No fear about the possible effects of this massive rune. After his veritable feast and brimming with overconfidence, Torrens felt nothing short of a lake or a village-obliterating explosion could threaten him. He figured that dumping a lake on the village would be unlikely for Emily to do and a little silly, with what knowledge he knew about her, and one does not stand willingly in the epicenter of village-leveling explosions unless it was a suicidal last resort, so it probably wasn't the second option either. And so Torrens walked casually until he was standing about 15 meters from Emily, positioned far enough in front of her to have entered Emily's vision.

Torrens nonchalantly leaned against a house, the stone wall and the dirt beneath him slowly starting to melt, and listened to Emily's song for a few more lines before speaking out. "Lovely song. If you can't respond, I understand, but what will this rune do?"

"You know how this works old sport, you get nothing for free. I am running a business after all." Azavarn said with a side glance to his hellspawn brother. "Besides eight humans is quite the request, especially if one is expecting it for free." He said he looked over his crowd of human cattle. "Though I may be open up for a trade of sorts, no souls required." The red haired demon said as he looked passed That Which Consumes Peace and directly at She Who Bathes in Blood, giving the smaller demon a wicked wink.

Azavarn's comment seemed to spark a sort of amusement in Clotho. She opened her right hand, revealing a yellow butterfly that spread its wings and flitted into the air. A wry smile was sent the demon's way as the swarm queen replied, “The time may come...when you prove yourself worthy of my respect.” She knelt to examine the young captive, who buried her face into the leg of the old alchemist in fear. When faced with a being like Clotho, even the strangest human was preferable. For a reason Clotho couldn't quite place, that rubbed her the wrong way. Returning to her full height, she remarked, “She'll work,” as she joined Azavarn's gaze at the dying village. “The dungeon would have been that much stronger if every villager had been captured, and every material looted. Instead, death and destruction lay waste to what could have been useful. They are so much like children. To maximize returns, it might be wise for the two of us to work together in the future. Twitch, Shukra, and Athinar are not entirely irredeemable.”

With the appearance of That Which Consumes Peace and She Who Bathes in Blood, Clotho felt that her idle time had come to an end. Perhaps it was her human origin, but demons still perturbed her. Executing a slight bow in the direction of Azavarn, she unfurled her wings and took off, moving so quickly that she might as well have teleported. In the air, it came to her attention that the village had not yet been engulfed by a raging pyroclast. Perhaps the little girl's intentions lie elsewhere. She spotted the demon Torrens easily, and from there was able to trace the object of his conversation: Emily herself. Believing herself to be able to outspeed any sort of arcane explosion, Clotho sped toward the pair and touched down opposite Torrens, lest his incredible heat begin to cook her in her own carapace. “The conquest is complete,” she told him, not sure if Emily was in a state susceptible to talk, “No challenge, just as expected. Most of the Master's forces are moving off. Have you two any further business here?”

Athinar grunted at the darkwraith briefly, not giving much attention to the gaunt figure. He didn't care much for the creatures, for if they got to someone before Athinar, it just wasn't as gratifying to draw blood. Also, they didn't really bleed themselves, just kind of oozed. However, his actions perked Athinar's interest. As the black sword pierced the man's chest, droplets of blood splattered over Athinar's helmet and chest, causing his eyes to dilate and nostrils to flare. The metallic scent hung in the air between them, allowing Kor to start a conversation easier. "Yeah, they're a bunch of little pansies who haven't seen a real bloodbath before." Athinar cracked his knuckles and stood casually, noting that excepting the other servants of the Boss, the village was devoid of activity. Then, that one fire demon, Torrens, his name was, came out, on fire, and the blacksmith following. Athinar's eyes narrowed as Torrens pointed directly at him, and the little blacksmith scampered his way.

When the small man reached him, terrified and out of breath, he gasped, to Athinar, "I was t-told th-that y-you'd spare me if I gave myself u-up! Please, don't kill me!" Athinar growled at the smith, causing even the militiamen in chains to shift nervously. "I'd prefer to cut you and your friends down here right now, but since my Boss told me to not to, I guess you can go with your friends back there." The blacksmith broke out in a sweat, and thanked Athinar profusely. Rolling his eyes, Athinar bitch slapped him across the face with his gauntlet, not hard enough to snap his neck, but hard enough to break his jaw and draw blood. Clapping the irons around his wrist, he pulled himself close, breathing into his ear. "Make no mistake, little man, by the time we're through with you, you'll WISH you were dead." Kicking him to the back of the line, Athinar let him lie on the ground for the time being.

Almost as if he could sense his name being spoken, he felt his eyes drawn to Clotho, the bug woman gaining all his attention. She was hovering next to Azavarn and two other demons, in conversation. The way her chitin glistened fascinated Athinar. It was nothing like anything he had seen before. Watching her as she flew to the center of the village, where Torrens and the homunculus were, Athinar sized up the situation, bloodlust sated briefly by violence. The homunculus was summoning some.... magical thing, Torrens was trying to talk to her, and now Clotho was as well. Athinar turned to Kor and said, "Wonder what's going on down there. Dunno what that construct is doing, but whatever it is, it's got the attention of Flamebrain and Bug-arse."

Emily finished her song, thankfully almost done by the time the fire creature - Torrens, she thought his name was, and his nature was certainly interesting to the point Emily would have to see how he dealt with Empyrean at a later date - came down to speak with her. He complimented her songe, which Emily always liked. So few of the Keeper's minions appricated her singing talents. And then he asked what the run did, as it held a pulse for several seconds, and then sank into the ground.
"It's both a beacon and a gate" She explained, before the bug-woman also appeared, just in time for the first Fire Spirit to fly out of the ground. There was no giant eruption, no ripping of the earth, no disterbance of any kind, since the spirits where not physical enough to do anything on this plane. And then more came, around thirty in all aproximation, from all over the village, everywhere the rune had encompassed.

The Fire Spirits where very close to the human's idea of a 'demon'. Firy, legless beings with a hot-headed nature and rather erratic flight patterns, they could be rather intimidating to one that did not know them. However, they ignored the three on the ground - as per Emily's instruction - and instead went for the cadavers. The spirits could clearly be seen scrapping with each other for who could inhabit the limited number of souless husks, and so some where inevitably pushed into the more wounded of bodies. The unlucky ones had to settle for the bodies terribly mutilated, and barely human at all, but still more physical than what they where.
"That, is what it does. And, that is what I was waiting here for. I am glad that nobody tried to interupt me while I was doing that. Small rituals are fine, but something this size would be likely to spill Muspelheim into our realm, and make the area contained in this rune an eternal super-lava pit, and the increase in temprature would affect everything for miles and miles, which would basically screw up the eco-system and, in fifty or so years, make this a hunk of rock with a highly unpredictable weather pattern" She told the two, looking out to the spirits.

The ones who had managed to get bodies that where intact spent a few moments working out how everything moved, and getting used to their new abilities and limitations. The maimed humans, who missed chunks of their body, began to leak out fire from the wounds, and would - in several hours - make Abominations or more likely, obliterate their hosts entirely.
"So, I think I have just sorted out the central heating problem in the Dungeon" she joked, giggling to herself as she touch her - broken - nose and then grimiced in pain. "Ow....remind me to work on the flying when we get back" she grumbled, clearly not in anyway skeptical or wary of the two minions.

Narza opens her eyes, slight disappointed that the music ended. She was enjoying listening, and had never heard anything like that before. The village, in the bare moments that she could remember, did have instruments, but those few instruments were shoddy and poorly made, played by unskilled and depressed villagers that had no time for hobbies. In contrast, Emily's music was rich, clear, and beautiful, seeming literally all the more magical.

Now that her eyes were open, she could see the great number of spirits flying out of the ground. She could feel they had souls, but they also seemed to be on fire, as if they were a fire elemental. Even more interesting was that the fire spirits were flying into the empty bodies she had left after taking the souls. I wonder if I can absorb those thingies o.o

The now-usual fog coiled around her body, Narza swoops down toward the nearest fire spirit, which was currently looking around for a body to inhabit after it had been beaten to the punch. Looking into the village, the spirit had its back turned to Narza and didn't see her approach until it was too late. Narza springs an ice wall up in front of the fire spirit and flies into the spirit, attempting to absorb it. To her dismay, the spirit burned on contact with her spiritual essence and Narza jerked backwards. "Oww! Jerk." Pouting, Narza flings an icicle at the perplexed spirit and flies toward the center of the village. The icicle passes harmlessly through the spirit and lodges in the melting ice wall.

"Hey, can you make more of those?" Narza asks Emily excitedly. It had just occurred to her that if Emily can keep making spirits to fill the empty humans, Narza could eat all of the human's souls she wouldn't get in trouble because the humans wouldn't be useless. (Do all the minions know each other beforehand, or were they all assembled recently?)