If you were ever to look at a map of the world where our story is set, you would see the continent of Mavalia at its west most point. It is in the center of this continent that you would find The Grey Mountains, a tall and imposing mountain range that held a very dark history. It was here that countless eons ago, The Overlord built his fortress. It was from this fortress that he once ruled the world. It was from this world that a group of young heroes rose up and cast down The Overlord from his place of power and killed him...Or so they thought. After the climactic final battle, The Overlord used the last of his power to bind his soul to his throne, preventing his death so that 1 day he could rise again and take back the world.

That day had come. For it was on that day that The Overlord no longer felt the presence of the heroes that had defeated him before. "And so they are dead" The Overlord said, speaking for the 1st time after years of silence "A pleasing development. Now I may rise again to reclaim what was taken from me".

With that said, The Overlord looked out across the world in search of his Black Lieutenants. 1 by 1, The Overlord found them. And once he had discovered them all, The Overlord called out to them. "Return to me".

Skraal knelt in silent reflection within one of the sanctums in the Deathguard grey mountains vault. The vast complex was built into a seaside cliff, with a single reinforced entrance only he knew where to find. Inside, armories, treasure rooms, sleeping quarters, a market, communion temples, muster halls, forges and even a dock were all housed. Maintaining the hidden complex were regular Dragonkin who worked and lived there in complete self-sustainable harmony and isolation, only sailing out to trade sporadically.

The eternal allowed himself a smile as he beckoned his kobold attendants to bring forth his most elegant armor. A great day was fast approaching. It had been a long time since he had seen his leader. He and five hundred of his warriors had been buried alive not so far from there on a similar but abandoned vault as they fought to reach him, the being who had earned his respect and trust all because of a foolish dwarf’s sacrifice. But now they were out and that tragedy was forgotten.

Skraal looked through the window on his chamber were he could observe all the activity on the vault. He inspected his Deathguard at the barracks as they polished and prepared their recently acquired parade armor set. Despite lacking land Skraal still counted with a fairly large amount of wealth he had amassed and hid over the years all across the land in several and identical vaults like that one. It pained him to open the treasure room but a gathering like the one ahead demanded it.

He was full of pride at the thought of seeing The Overlord again, as anyone would when it came to the powerful leader of the greatest empire known to mankind. The telepathic message had been clear. The Overlord himself had ordered the disparate surviving lieutenants to muster at his keep on The Grey Mountains, and he hoped all of them would comply.

Fully armored, the paladin strode down the path he knew so well. The black Dragonkin skull on the dark green banner flew high as the five hundred paraded through the short path between his vault and the keep.

Clan Hellhammer. Being the previous head clan of the Orcish Horde under Ukdur, it had retained the greatest holdings and the most power since the Horde itself broke apart. The perfect place to start piecing it all back together. Time enough had passed that a great number of the clansmen had assumed the first Warchief dead and buried, but the elders, and shamans in particular bowed as he passed, they would never forget the unifier. They were not the only ones to remember, however, the new Clan Chieftain was more than aware of Ukdur's presence, and he did not plan to lose his position of power.

Like father like son, it would seem.

Ukdur had no intention of tossing his own son aside without honor, but he didn't plan to wait for his child to die in combat either, and so he chose Mok'gal. The ancient Orcish rite of challenge was one rarely used, unlike other challenges, it was to the death, and the victor's rule became absolute. With the challenge issued and accepted, the shamans readied the arena, littered with burning embers, grains, ice shards and snowflakes, all four of the elements were represented, the duel now watched over by the Orcish gods.

Ukdur and his son Uk'kal shared no words, no sign of reunion, they may have been family, but this was more than family, this was about power, about rite, about ritual, one of the most sacred an Orc could take. Armed still with Bloodfury, Ukdur charged his son, the boy's great hammer parrying away his initial blow as the larger Orc slammed his fist across the face of his child, chipping Uk'kal's tusk in the process. A few more blows were exchanged, and after a long struggle in which the two clashed weapons, each of the Orc's were disarmed, their axe and hammer sent flying across the arena, and clattering to the floor.

Anger began to fill Uk'kal, for years he had been left, raised only by Ukdur's mate, struggling to keep the clans together with so little of his own. "You left me!" He screamed in anger, punching his father across the face, Ukdur taken aback by the force as he staggered. "To pick up your pieces!" He continued, sending another flurry of blows toward Ukdur's face, tears welling in his eyes as he grabbed hold of his father's shoulders, tossing him back against the wall. "You failed me!" He screamed through his hatred and misery.

Landing near his axe, Ukdur pulled himself to a knee, taking hold of Bloodfury as he moved to stand, looking over his son, crying before the clan, and his own father. "You never had the strength of a true Warchief..." Ukdur hissed, hurling his axe forward as it carved into Uk'kal's chest, the younger Orc dropping to his knees as the life quickly left him, devoured by the demonic essence in Ukdur's blade.

Seizing his axe, along with the Frost bear pelt his son had taken as his own sign of rule, Ukdur once more took hold of the Northern clans, ready and willing to serve his master, as he set out for The Overlord's fortress.

First to arrive at the decaying fortress was the illustrious and somewhat downtrodden Bastian Wenderuthweiler, once Emperor and King of Kings, now clothed in peasants clothes lest he be recognized. It had a certain irony to it, given that he had been the first of the Black Lieutenants to fall in the Liberation, defeated in battle by the aspiring paladin Kadon.

Kadon, Bastian thought darkly, his very name now a curse for the once-Emperor.

The party made its way through the ashen blights, through the ruined gates and decrepit halls, through what had been the den of evil in this world. He would rather have come with the great warriors of the age, not the rabble of frontier peasants he had lived with for the last century. But one had to make do with one actually had. There were a little more than a dozen of them with him. The rest he had left in the village, not wanting to attract undue attention to himself with an overly large party.

He turned towards the one walking next to him, a tall woman by the name of Ianne. "Tell me, it's quite different from your little dirt pile of a village, isn't it?"

"No," she answered in a dead voice, not even deigning to look at him. That bothered him, as all such rudeness did. He briefly considered having her beaten for the gall, but decided this was neither the time nor place. He let the matter drop, and the group walked silently the rest of the way to the central chamber.

"Gods, what a mess," Bastian muttered as he walked into the expansive throne room. "Did they really leave it in such a dismal state?"

As he entered, his peasants spread out into a full circle around him, their crude weapons- improvised farming equipment, bows, and the odd axe brandished threateningly. They did not respond to the surroundings, only marching silently in perfect synchronization. Bastian himself, however, took the time to get an idea of his surroundings.

The hall had once been the very seat of The Overlord's power. Countless times Bastian had been here, either receiving commendation for crushing another realm, or scolding for his reckless pursuit of his own glory. It had been a sight to behold, then, the very architecture inspiring dread and obedience. Now, however, it etched of decay, barely able to frighten mice. He quietly reflected on how far his master had fallen- it was almost comical. Of course, he kept a solemn and pious-looking expression advancing. No need to invite an early meeting with the Dark Gods, after all.

Having crossed a suitable distance, he stopped. "Stop and kneel," he said to his followers, and they did so instantly. He himself knelt as well. They were still quite a way from his master, but he decided that it was best to stay at a respectful distance. Also, he hoped that if The Overlord was still angry about his going into hiding, he would have time to turn and run before the wrath of hell fell upon him that way.

"Bastian" a voice echoed from the enthroned skeleton. The Overlord was slumped on his throne, without a soul to occupy the body, the years had reduced it to little more than an armored skeleton. "It has been too long, my trusted lieutenant". While he had been slightly annoyed by Bastian's disappearance, The Overlord had no intention of striking down someone with such useful abilities as Bastian. And even if he did want Bastian dead, The Overlord wouldn't have done it himself. He would have simply taken Bastian's immortality and allowed the Dark Gods to claim the soul Bastian has promised in exchange for his power.

"Oh my master," Bastian announced in a grandiose fashion as he kept his head bowed, staring intently at the moss-covered floor, "I have returned to your side as you commanded. I have not been idle the past years: I bring you more subjects, the first stone in the rebuilding of your rightful empire." He threw a tentative look upwards, at the apparently still skeleton. How ridiculous he must look, grovelling to a pile of rotten bones! "How may your humblest of servants serve?"

'The years have certainly not dulled Bastian's skill in grovelling or his flare for all things grandiose' The Overlord thought to himself before speaking once more. "For now I would have you tell your servants to tidy this place up and await the arrival of the other lieutenants" The Overlord said "It's good to have actual servants again, the only thing I've had until now that's come close to being decent help is a small goblin. But the only thing he's good at is brushing the dust off my bones and keeping my armor polished".

A single spider strolled in, as small as most of the insects come. That was only the beginning a large wave of spiders that began to fill the throne room, before just completely stopping their movement. Two spiders, as large as men, strolled into the throne room before parting to reveal the only reason they had arrived at the fortress, their queen. It was Serikul, Queen of Spiders, in all of her glory. "Hmm, sadly I am not the the first one to arrive," the spider queen stated as she saw that Bastian had arrived before her. The sad part is that she went through all the work of thinking of ways to make her seem that she had gathered many more forces to aid her liege. Serikul moved forwards, spiders parting out of her path, before she bowed to The Overlord.

"It is good to see you again, my lord," Serikul said softly as she looked up at the armored skeleton, all of her eyes focusing on him. The smaller spiders began to shuffle their way out of the throne room to return to the lands that Serikul claimed dominion over. The two large ones, however, stayed with their queen. Serikul gave a light smile at the sight of The Overlord, remembering the times of their claim of the entire world. The throne room had deteriorated admittedly, but that could be overlooked for the time being.

"Serikul" The Overlord said when The Queen of the Spiders greeted him "I am glad to see you have also brought your own additions to our new army". Now that Serikul had arrived, The Overlord had a feeling that Bastian was going to attempt to flirt with Serikul. Bastian's attempts to court The Queen of the Spiders never failed to amuse The Overlord.

Bastian rose sharply and turned around, taking his master's diversion of interest as implicit permission to cease his grovelling. "Ah, my darling has arrived! Following-" Realizing suddenly how vulnerable he seemed, he muttered something to the villagers, who rose and formed up in front of him. "Following in my footsteps, are you?"

"Bastian you best hold your breath before I slaughter you. I have not come to hear of your petty attempts to woo me," Serikul snapped before ceasing her own grovelling to The Overlord. She always hated it when Bastian felt the need to do this petty display, it never worked on her. With a sigh, she restrained herself from killing the humans that Bastian had brought as his escort.

"But surely my 'petty attempts' are a pleasant bonus?" Bastian joked nonchalantly. Hearing no laughter from her, her spiders, his villagers, and their almighty dark lord, he found a sudden need to backtrack. "But, ah... you heard her, everyone. No wooing the giant spider. Everyone, let's just... move out of the way for now."

His party moved aside, most taking flanking positions around him once again as he struggled to find something to sit on in the pile of rubble and muck that they called a ruin. The others set about starting the hopeless task of setting the ruins into order, at Bastian's order. He finally settled on leaning on the stump of what had been a great pillar, watching the horde of spiders leave the chamber.

"I suddenly remember why I never hired a jester" The Overlord said "With you two around, amusement was only ever a cringe worthy flirtation away". The Overlord then punctuated his statement with a small chuckle that caused the ground to shake very slightly.

“I see you are in good humor, it is an honor to listen to that voice once more my lord,” Skraal commented as he marched into the throne room. The Dragonkin remembered every aspect of that keep, after all the Deathguard had supervised and even helped construct it. Accompanying him were three of his most ferocious platoon leaders as he left the rest of the army in formation outside. His escort was all clad in the most shining and expensive armor the vault could offer and each plate was decorated with intricate and intimidating designs. The impressive look of the Deathguard was enough for the ones gathered there to realize the fall meant nothing to him and that he was ready to enforce his master's will.

"Skraal" The Overlord said as the only Black Lieutenant who was older than The Overlord made his presence known "Still the best at making an entrance without even trying I see".

"A very visible entrance, yes," Bastian commented from his position. "How the hell did you manage to get those soldiers here without alarming the all-too-righteous kings of the region? I had to sneak here with this rabble." He made a gesture to the peasants around him, clearly dissatisfied at being upstaged.

"My current lair is close, besides it does not matter how righteous a king is when his subjects can be easily persuaded to look the other way," the Dragonkin responded with a smile as he flipped a golden coin as to emphasize his point. "You should know wealth is the deadliest weapon one can acquire,"

Suddenly, and rather unceremoniously, the larger side-doors to the hall swung wide and slammed against the walls beside them, their hinges tested and the old wood creaking and splintering from the sudden stress. Three large figures began to march through the passageway, well, less march, more trudge. At the head of the trio was the largest, a mountain of muscle-mass clad only in his patchwork pants and a large white frost bear pelt worn over his head like a cloak. Clad in his hand was the ancient axe Bloodfury, and around his wrists were still a pair of elven cuffs, a few broken chains dangling off them. Ukdur looked over the others who had arrived before him with mild amusement, Serikul he was pleased to see, as was the same for Skraal, Bastian however, why he could just smash the puny human's face in right that second.

The presence of his old master was perhaps what held him back from doing so. Ukdur's eyes shifted over to the throne as he reached the group of his fellow lieutenants, the two Orcish clan chieftains behind him chose to take a knee, the Warchief himself did not. "Overlord, my clans might be shattered still for the time being, but until they are together again, I myself shall form your iron fist." He brought a fist to his chest in a form of salute, hauling his massive axe over his shoulder to rest there, looking to Bastian again with a sneer, working out mentally how much of him might get stuck between his tusks if he were to eat the tiny man.

Bastian rested a hand on the pommel of his blade and gave the orc a taunting grimace. That was about as far as he was willing to go when it came to that beast.

"I would prefer it if we weren't a lieutenant down before we've even started" The Overlord said when Ukdur and Bastian stared each other down "Especially if it's due to infighting". It was then that The Overlord was struck with an after thought. "While we're on the subject" The Overlord added "A group of mountain giants have set up camp near the fortress, Ukdur. So if your desire to spill blood become too much for you to bare, take it out on them rather than our forces". The Overlord remembered his iron fist's enjoyment of love for crippling addiction to battle all too well. So The Overlord had made a mental note to keep Ukdur occupied for as long as possible with something that was his army.

Turning his gaze away from his rival, and ideally future victim, Ukdur looked back to his master with a satisfied smirk, giving his head a slow nod. "Easy enough prey, but it will be satisfactory." He commented, tapping his fingers against his axe. "Not the army of elves or..." He cast a sidelong glance to Bastian again. "Peasant rebellion I'd prefer, but it will do."

"Yes, imagine trying to defeat a paladin blessed by the combine might of the gods of good in hand to hand combat," Bastian said mockingly, his voice sharp with indignation. "Actually, best not imagine, that might be a bit too complicated for your little brain."

In the wake of Ukdur's semi-dramatic entrance, just before the wide and damaged wooden doors, the very air itself seems to implode: the essence of the doorway is sucked into a central point with a - by the standards of, say, the peasant servants in the room - eerie and imposing gush of air; as soon as the air reaches the central point, it calmly erupts outwards into a nondescript sphere-esque mass of red, purple, and black, withering and squirming hideously. Whispers fill the room with the presence of the rift, driving thoughts of chaos and insanity into the weak.
"Oh, the 'gods of good'," comments the Lord Summoner, Uaziezuhr, as his large and clad form stomps out of the plane rift and into the room, "It's so terribly rude to say such vile things in the presence of our revered overlord, 'King of Kings'." As Uaziezuhr sets the base of his large staff, wielded in his left hand, against the floor as to rest, two figures clad in ruined human armor step out of the rift behind him: it is clear that these two abominations were once men, more namely knights of the east, but had long since been subject to one daemonic ritual or another subjecting them to possession, turning them into vile creatures with otherworldly appendages and features. With Uaziezuhr and his guard out of the rift, it simply unceremoniously shuts behind him; with that, the whispers simply vanish.

Uaziezuhr, placing his vacant right arm in front of his waist, bows before the corpse of The Overlord. "I come as you summon me, my lord."

"Uaziezuhr" The Overlord said as the villagers Bastian had brought along entered a frenzied state. Bastian himself was busy trying to slap sense into one of them ("Stop being insane! I gave you a direct order, dammit!")."Thank you for not breaking my door like Ukdur, but did you really have to drive Bastian's servants insane? We needed them for the reconstruction of this fortress...By the way, has hell frozen over yet?".

Uaziezuhr rose from his bow as he spoke:
"My lord, your presence is not worthy of such plebeians," he began as he shifted his imposing red gaze over to the servants and farmhands, "but it should only be a temporary - unless any are ill or of weak spirit, in which case I can reimburse the King of Kings with my cultists plus interest, of course." He paused to let The Overlord continue his piece before letting out a brief, hearty laugh. "Oh, the recent additions to the daemonic court aren't that bad - sure, it's nothing of the likes of that of your reign, but it gets to the same outcome eventually."

"Yes, let's replace all my servants with maddened cultists, what could go wrong with that," Bastian muttered darkly from his corner.

It took all of Skraal’s self-control to not try and cut down the demon worshiper were he stood as he laughed. Yes, it was true that he loathed the spider queen just for her resemblance to the drider. But unlike the race he had exterminated eons ago in a long and bloody war before the first surfacing, the demons were another story. To Skraal the bringers of the apocalypse were the creatures he truly hated, and having to work alongside one of their instruments was very hard. Of course not all demons were bad but he knew the ones that accepted worship and made deals, to him those only deserved eternal banishment and their followers excruciating torture before being put to the steak.

Sadly Uaziezuhr was a magician and Skraal was in no mood to combat magic as it took too much time and energy. He instead decided to look another way and concentrated on the orc. He was truly his ancestor’s shadow and just as dangerous. The Dragonkin smiled at the orc as a matter of salute but then his gaze went to the weapon he carried. Unconsciously he touched his cheekbone and couldn’t avoid to think about one of the greatest fights the Deathguard ever had. Skraal went through the events of that week, for the fighting had been so intense it had taken seven days of tireless brawling. He dove into his banks of memory and revived those moments with vivid intensity. That was perhaps the hardest fight I’ve lost, he thought as he returned to reality. He noticed the room was growing quiet and so he intervened “My liege perhaps it will be wise if we wait no longer, and commence the meeting immediately"

Uaziezuhr let out a quiet 'oh' as he heard the familiar voice of the dragonkin.
"He survived..." he mutters dryly. He took a moment to look over the rest of the Lieutenants present, having had his focus on the overlord so far: Warchief Ukdur, who he let his gaze linger on momentarily, and then Bastian, who he simply rolled his glowing red eyes at. Then there was Serikul.
"Ah, Queen Serikul," Uaziezuhr greeted as he bowed slightly, although more in a sense of greeting than a sense of allegiance such as the overlord received, "it's always a pleasure. We should find the time to discuss what's happened all these years."

With that said, Uaziezuhr cleared his throat as he directed his attention back to The Overlord.
"I agree with the dragonkin," he forced, the very thought of sharing an opinion with that which should be dead by the will of the dark gods disgusting him - but in service to The Overlord, it had to be done, "I stand ready to begin at your leisure, my lord."

"I had intended on waiting for the other lieutenants" The Overlord said "But I also grow tired of waiting to get things started, so I'll simply debrief our late comers upon arrival. Now then, I have called you back to me because the time has come for us to once more cast a shadow upon this world and reclaim what was taken from us many eons ago. Those who stood against us and thew us from our thrones have long since passed on and we have faded into the fogs of history. But that doesn't mean this will be easy. Even now forces approach The Grey Mountains with intent to see us sent back into the fog of history. This force I speak of is an army of elves that has been tracking Ukdur ever since his escape. We must use the time we have to repair as much of the fortress defenses as possible before the elves arrive. Once the villagers have calmed down, we'll have slaves for manual labor but we'll also need resources to make the repairs as well. More man power wouldn't hurt, but building supplies are the priority. Once we've dealt with this elven army, we can concentrate on reconquering the world. We don't have much time to prepare, so we'll have to work quickly. You are dismissed".

---

You have 1 round to prepare for the elf invasion.

Serikul is currently The Overlord's favorite Black Lieutenant.

Uaziezuhr bows in response to the orders, dipping his head at the lowest point.
"As you say, my lord. I will begin preparations for the battle." With that, he turns to leave the room, glancing over the other Lieutenants as he leaves. Between the Spider Queen's spiders acting as something akin to cavalry, the Warchiefs orcs acting as heavy infantry, and the Deathguard acting as specialist infantry, there was more than enough field forces for the battle. What was significantly lacking was defenses, dedicated scouts, and support - and without the time to go through the rites nor the significance of battle required to summoning the war machines of hell, the remaining option is fairly straightforward.

As Uaziezuhr steps onto the roof of the fort, his staff begins to crackle and glow with dark energies. With a view of the keep and the mountain ranges of the oncoming battle, he slams the base of his staff into the stone underfoot as he calls:
"Koln polkefodz, dyfk uail yolz sa ty: E zwodd hlajeky uai qesw swy tyofz - zyfk ty zdojyz bal lesiodz ofk pafzslipseaf, ofk zyfk ty ethz bal zpaisefr ofk pattifeposeafz!" A series of rifts tear open around the stronghold - tactfully away from any stationed personnel or structures - from which gatherings of tortured slaves of various race, bound by chains and metal and directed by whip-bearing Dark Bishops of the cult, pour forth alongside small gatherings of winged imps, who take to the skies.

A lone imp comes to perch next to Uaziezuhr, to whom he addresses:
"Instruct the slaves conduct dark rituals to supply me with mana, and have them fabricate emergency defenses for the fortress; we are unable to provide skilled laborers nor do we have the time for restorations, so emergency defenses will have to suffice. Have your kin scout for the enemy and report their locations to the other lieutenants, and have them deliver messages to and fro for the other lieutenants; additionally, inform the other lieutenants that I am prepared to provide magic support in the absence of catapults and trebuchets."

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Actions: Uaziezuhr rifts in slaves to construct emergency defenses for the fort and to conduct dark rituals to boost his mana, and rifts in winged imps to scout and report on the location of the enemy and establish a communications messenger network for the lieutenants. Uaziezuhr personally prepares to provide magic support in the absence of catapults and trebuchets.

Letting out a scoff of satisfied amusement, Ukdur would shift his axe off his shoulder, resting his hand under the head of it as the two Chieftains along with him would move to stand. "I've been killing elves since I left that prison of theirs, suppose it's time to stop running and give that wave a wall of iron to break against." Giving a nod to the Overlord's throne, Ukdur cast a sidelong glance to the other Lieutenants, gaze lingering on the Dragonkin momentarily, the only one there he truly held any legitimate sort of approval of. Turning back around, he and his escort left out the broken door they had entered through, moving out to the temporary war camp which had been set up by his clans on a plain below the fortress. "Warchief! The Wargs are becoming restless, they attacked some of the handlers at feeding time, they need blood!" Gruk, one of Ukdur's older allies, and his second-in-command. "They will have it, friend, have the Shamans begin summoning the elementals, we will charge into the fray until they are ready to assist." Gruk gave a respectful nod and moved off to follow Ukdur's order, the Warchief taking up the great horn from his belt, blowing a call to war throughout the camp, a rousing roar of anticipation filling the Orcish camp, heard up to the Fortress.

Ukdur had made the trek through the very same path the Elves travelled along only a day beforehand, he knew where they would come, and where would be the best place to take them. "The Horde marches again, and tonight we drink Elven blood." He smirked, breathing in the combined fury and bloodlust of his warriors, it was palpable, he had missed it for too long. Moving into the camp, he climbed aboard his Warg, the largest of all they had, fur black as night, with eyes as red as blood. Taking his son's Greathammer in his free hand, he raised both weapons over his head, looking back over his army as they formed behind him with what weapons they had. "Sons and daughters of my Horde, we have been scattered for far too long! Our people have been made slaves by the humans and elves we once conquered! I now tell you that we will bathe in the blood of those who have held us back! We will once again be conquerors!" Another horrendous and rallying roar from the army as they began to move back down the path they had once come, rushing to meet the Elves headlong in the thin passes of the mountains, there they would fall.

Once more, Ukdur led his Horde to war, against the very enemies who had kept it scattered and enslaved for years. Who had kept him locked away in an ancient dungeon, gripping both the weapons in his hands, Ukdur let out a blood-curdling cry of rage, his warg speeding up as he led the charge, he would be the first to spill Elven blood that day.

---

Actions: Ukdur's rallied the clans he has brought with him, and is leading his forces straight into battle with the Elves. At the same time, his Shamans are working on summoning elementals and different offensive elemental spells, mostly fireballs and Stone spears.

Skraal observed Ukdur rally his army with real fascination. The chaotically organized fashion in which the blood hungry orcs moved was captivating. After years of observing the hordes move the paladin had concluded that the trick to their brutal efficiency on the battlefield was precisely that unpredictability and impressiveness. This was the exact opposite of what he employed, for the elegant manner in which his forces could dispatch enemies would strike as much fear as a wave of giant crazed brutes.

He examined his five hundred immortal kin, they had already changed into battle armor, the same green and black colors but a lot tougher and without the silver decorations that were instead replaced by all manner of grizzly trophies and dry blood. Skraal gave a nod to one of his escorts. The Dragonkin took whose name was Jakaka took a deep breath and burst a red flame into the air, a rallying order. The five hundred formed almost immediately, their organizational pattern was obvious.

The Scaled Deathguard was divided into five companies, each of which contained eight "Fangs" or squads made up of twelve warriors and two apothecaries. The eight squads in each company were divided in two categories both with a specific task, these were: Rangers who were tasked with thinning the numbers of enemy troops at a distance, and Front-liners whose job was to receive the enemy charge when in a defensive position and act as mixed infantry when not. The only exception to this hierarchy and order was the independent squad that moved around that was his personal squad of nine warriors and an apothecary.

“Tell the Second Company to remain at the castle protecting our lord, the rest with me,” Skraal ordered as he put his helmet on. Jakaka began spouting rings of fire, some bigger than others and with various tones. The second company started making its way inside the keep. The others burst out wings in unison. Skraal did the same, his wings way bigger than most. Then he took to the sky. It had been a while since he used the wings always hidden in his back and it took a while to get used to the feeling again. He could see the army was having the same problem but luckily after a few minutes of rising they had dealt with the silly inconvenient and were soaring through and then above the clouds in perfect formation.

Skraal’s plan was simple, he would fly behind the enemy to cut off any reinforcements or unwanted guests and await for any retreating survivors to come. His forces would then defeat the confused enemy, gather any information possible, and then proceed to systematically dispose of the elven scum. He hated being the scavenger of the lieutenants but until he amassed and trained another of his mortal armies (the last one died when the tunnels buried them alive) he could not join Ukdur in the initial charge or directly attack the enemy from above.

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Actions: Skraal left 100 of his men to guard the throne room and went behind the enemy with the remainder of the Deathguard (400) to cut off reinforcements and kill any survivors from Ukdur's frontal charge.

“Snap out of it! Now!”

Bastian’s command did not solicit a response of any kind in Ianne. The peasant woman still remained catatonic, slumped against the wall, her blue eyes locked in an aimless stare. No effect, then. He let out a sigh through grit teeth, and rose up sharply.

“Damnit! Gods above, below, everywhere, damn that wretched parlor magician!” He picked up a loose stone and threw it as far as he could off the cliff. “Tell me if any of their conditions change,” he told the tribesman on guard with barely suppressed fury.

Three full hours had passed since Uaziezuhr, that daemon-worshiping son of a whore, had locked his servants in a catatonic trance. Half of the initial dozen had already woken up, but the rest remained infuriatingly unresponsive. On his orders, they had dragged their comrades out of the throne room, and into the ruins of the courtyard. Once, it had been flanked on all sides by towers and walls; now, though, it was defaced by a sheer cliff after a quarter of the castle had crumbled from disuse, ripped apart from the castle and fell into the abyss of the valley below. On that daunting cliffside, he had them erect tents and campfires. Setting up camp in the middle of a castle; that was exactly how far the fortress had degraded.

He didn’t care so much about the servants (who were rather easy to come by for the Emperor) as he was vexed by the sorcerer’s sheer gall. They weren’t his to take away, damnit! And he actually liked this red haired peasant woman of his. Not particularly deeply, or as- perish the thought- a wife, but still. But above all, he was unnerved by the feeling of helplessness that gripped him without puppets to protect him. A stab, a crunch, and his soul would be at the mercy of the Dark Gods. Not a pleasant thought.

“Master, Ianne is waking!”

He ran to the two of them. About damn time, he thought. The tribeswoman was still slumped, but was convulsing in the same manner the others did as they awoke. After a moment, the convulsions stopped, and her eyes snapped forward. “Look at me,” Bastian ordered, and she did. He smiled with something close to relief: another servant was back in his hands, and the only one he didn’t mind bedding, thank the gods. He could not fathom going celibate for potentially months because he didn’t have someone to his taste around.

He supposed he could have redoubled his efforts to melt the Spider Queen’s heart, but suspected that she wasn’t ready for such a dramatic… advancement in their relationship yet. That kind of courtship would require presents, poems, and followers to protect himself from her loving retribution, none of which he actually had at the moment. And… he could not afford to exasperate The Overlord.

He was under no illusions of his status: He had been the first vanquished, the one to go into hiding (leaving the others to their fates in the process), the one to come to his master wearing peasants clothes, accompanied by a band of farmers. Respect was what kept one a Black Lieutenant, and respect was a finite commodity. Even he, with all his confidence, knew that the others considered him the weakest, the most vulnerable, the least worthy. And so he could not afford the kind of brazen behavior that his competence had permitted him in the Old Regime.

Which was another reason why angry his servants were indisposed. He had come here with little- now he had even less!

Movement in the corner of his eye shook him awake. He’d been lost in thought, he realized suddenly, dangerously unaware of his surroundings. He spun around, to find Ianne walking along the cliff edge. “Get back here, Ianne!” he shouted as he walked towards her, his voice hard.

She turned towards him. The mountain wind was blowing hard from the void, but she stood her ground there. She looked at him, blue eyes wide. Her lips began to move, slowly mouthing a word.

“No,” she said faintly, an expression of shock on her face. He stared back, dumbfounded. She… resisted?, he thought panicked. But… how? Is she… she’s strong enough…? He could only count the seconds, as they stood frozen.

Four…
She looked away.
Three...
Her head began to turn.
Two...
She spun around, facing the void.
One…
Bastian took two steps forward, right arm outstretched.

And then she leapt.



How?

That was the question Bastian kept asking himself. How had she resisted his command? Oh, there were individuals of great enough fortitude to do so, but Ianna had most definitely not been one of them. For years- since her birth, in fact, twenty-five years ago- she had obeyed his commands as promptly as anyone else in their little pigsty of a village. So why now? The only answer that made any kind of sense to him was that the daemon insanity placed upon them, whatever it was, affect his control somehow. He tested the others thoroughly after the… jump, and they all seemed to still be under his perfect control, however.

He sat on a fallen piece of rotten timber, and thought silently. Thinking about thinking, to be precise: Why was he so deep in reflection? He had already arrived at the closest thing he would likely get for an answer, the Dark Gods not being very forthright with their ways. What was there left to ponder?

Perhaps he was looking at the wrong question. That was it. It wasn’t “how” he should be asking himself, it was “why”. Why would she do that? Jump, killing herself, ending her own life? Surely… any kind of existence was better than meeting the gods of this world? Hadn’t he cared for her, along with the rest of them?

Was he that terrible, that only through death she could escape him?

Was he even sad? He couldn't rightly say. He didn’t care for the dead woman any more than he cared for his sword or a hunting dog- she was a possession, nothing more. No, he didn’t believe himself to be mourning her. Then why all this sudden philosophy?

All of this was certainly uncharted territory for Bastian. Three hundred odd years he had lived with this power, and he had never once stopped to think of morality. His own pleasure, his own desires were all he chased in life. So the fact that her death bothered him was baffling. He had killed thousands! Tens of thousands! He had enslaved and tortured and abused! Hadn’t he been willing to use her as a human shield against the other Lieutenants, back in the throne room?

So why were these questions now haunting him? Why? Why? Why?

“Ragvar, come to me!” he barked, and an aging man with a great bushy beard walked over.

“Answer my questions, and answer truthfully,” Bastian ordered. Ragvar just stood there, staring at him. “Alright, let’s start with basics. You were Ianna’s… uncle, right?”

“Her father,” the tall man let out through clenched teeth.

“Superb!” Bastian exclaimed, clasping his hands together. “Then maybe you can answer a few things I’ve been stewing on! For starters… Why did she jump, just now?”

“To get away from you,” came the reply, filled with venom. That took Bastian by surprise. Suddenly, a question occurred to him, one he had never bothered ask anyone before.

“Do you hate me?”

Ragvar looked at him with an expression of pure loathing. “Yes.”

Bastian closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he opened them again, and stood up. “Fine, you hate me. Good for you fucking you. But I am the Emperor of all mankind, and you will still obey my commands.” His voice was hard once again.

“And from NOW ON,” he said, raising his voice so the others could hear him too, “everyone will stay at least five meters from that cliff edge at all times. That is an order! There is no escape! All of you, stop moping about like idiots and get back to cleaning this mess of rouble!”

He pointed to two of them. “Except for you two. Find me something to serve as a shield: a plank, a broken table, I don’t care. Work handles into whatever you find so I can actually use the damn thing.”

Walking over to the three still-catatonic tribesmen left, he kicked one hard in the stomach. “And you three- wake up already! Fun time’s over, children!”

I am Bastian Wenderuthweiler, Emperor, King of Kings, rightful ruler of this world!

But who was he, really?

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Actions: Set followers to clean up some of the mess, set up a camp, and to find him a goddamn shield already.

When the voice called out to him. Phastum was unsure if it was truely it. He hurried to his Seeing Glass and looked upon the old fortress and sure enough the Overlord while in a weak state did return. The Lich wondered if when the Overlord fell he saw Phastum attempt to kill the heroes that slayed his master or did he not know anything. He would try his luck but he would wait to make sure those that failed the Overlord before wouldn't be annihilated so he stood and watched over the throne room until one by one the other Lieutenants appeared bringing gifts in an attempt to suck up to their lord. Finally after the overlord told the others what to do they quickly dispersed doing different things to win glory and serve the Overlord. The Lich would await the arrival of the elves to transport himself to the mountains and send spells against them. Then the ones that fell would join his army and turn against their elf comrads.

Actions: The Lich will await the attack of the elves in his fortress but when the battle begun would go to the mountains and attack the elf army with his fellow Dark Lieutenants.

"Return to me."

These words burned themselves into the empty vessel of a dormant mind. The words drummed louder and more incessant as time passed by, and slowly understanding dawned. The cobwebs that blanketed the minds of the dead, were slowly shook away as cognizant thought returned. Thoughts of ash, of flame and of a blade biting deep came with them.

Slowly, the long peaceful and untouched form of a black Dragon shuddered as life fought to bring the long exhumed host back to the world. Even rot and carrion-eaters had feared to disturb the grounded form, for a much more dangerous power had laid claim and promised life. More thoughts returned, of blood, of burning and of the blades wielder.

"STANWYCK!!" A deep and thunderous roar rocked the surroundings as the form of a large black Dragon erupted from the leaves and refuge that had adorned his body for years. As the leaves swirled and fluttered in the wind, they revealed a large dark stain which marred the earthen ground. The Dragon's blood had remained and would continue to do so, forever marking the ground upon which Calemvir had grounded, and bled out alone. The ground upon which he had lost his life.

The great beast lumbered forward, claws raking at the green earth as he adjusted to his new found life. Surrounding him, stood a field of evergreen trees bearing green leaves and spines with outstretched limbs.
A large heart began to beat, blood coursed and thoughts became clearer.

A wild swiping claw ripped bark free from the closest tree trunk, revealing the inner white of wood and sap.
"Curse you Stanwyck! You have committed you and your kin to death." Even as the vile threat sounded throughout the clearing with a deep, reptilian voice. Calemvir sensed that time had passed, that the Stanwyck that had slain him no longer stood amongst the living. And yet, he fully intended to make good on his threat. As Calemvir's thoughts turned to vengeance and blood, the Overlord's words once more made themselves known, drumming seemingly from within his own ridged skull.

"Yes, of-course." Great and all encompassing wings expanded, shrugging of any of the more adamant leaves which now drifted slowly to their resting places upon the dried and bloodstained earth. With a powerful beat of his large wings, Calemvir took to the skies.



Gliding upon the cold wayward winds, the large Dragon materialized from behind a cloud bank over the ruined keep now reduced to nothing more than rubble and a jagged skyline. A throng of crude tents lay outside before it's gates as he looked down upon the ruins, a quarter of which had disappeared over the edge of the cliff the keep sat upon. The winged beast circled the keep once, looking upon the priest who stood atop the fort as dark rifts formed around the being. The Dragon sneered as he came to land before the great doors of the Overlord's keep.

Constructed specifically to accommodate the size of the large Elder Dragon, the great wooden doors now hung limply from their hinges.
"Orcs..." Calemvir spoke aloud as his large snout inhaled. Bringing his wings close against him, the Dragon prowled through the once grand hall of the Overlord. With many of the walls collapsed and the hall empty bar the throne sitting at the halls end, the great beast found there to be more than enough room for his large form.

All four of his clawed feet clinked against the stone floor as Calemvir approached the throne, before finally stopping and rearing his head high.
"Dark one, you asked of me? I have seen an orc encampment beyond these walls and Uaziezuhr upon the ramparts. I believe I smell human... Just what is this?" The Dragon hissed.

---

Actions: Recently awoken, Calemvir has made his way to the Overlord's fort for answers.

The elven army approached The Grey Mountains with confidence. They believed they had finally cornered the orcs. They were wrong.

The Overlord, knowing that this battle would end in a swift and brutal victory, decided to turn his attention elsewhere. Uaziezuhr was busy bringing in slaves and messenger imps from his daemonic acquaintances. With the slaves working on the defenses, the elves would at the very least meet some token resistance should they somehow make it to the fortress, and once the elves had been dealt with, the slaves could then restore the fortress to its former glory. The Overlord then cast his sight upon Bastian. His servants were beginning to do useful things, and had salvaged their master a rusty iron shield from 1 of the decorative suits of armor. But the King of Kings was still having trouble with them. 1 of his servants had even thrown herself to her...to her...Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong here. The woman had thrown herself off a cliff and most likely onto sharp and pointy rocks that rested at the bottom. Death should have been instantaneous, but somehow she was as alive as she was unharmed. "Impossible!" The Overlord exclaimed, causing the throne room to shake.
"What ever is the matter, Master?" asked The Overlord's goblin servant as he polished his master's armor.
"We have a problem" The Overlord replied. Before The Overlord could explain further, Calemvir entered the throne room. "This is our comeback, Calemvir" The Overlord said when the dragon asked what was happening "And problems are already springing up. I'll explain everything when the battle is over and the other lieutenants return"

The elven army entered The Grey Mountains through The Black Fortress Pass. Once they were far enough away from the entrance, Skraal and his Deathguard landed there to cut off the elves escape. Believing it would be a tactical advantage, elven archers scaled the cliff sides on both sides of the pass to rain arrows down upon. Once the archers where up high, Serikul's spiders ambushed them. The elven archers attempted to shout down to their comrades to warn them of the ambush, but The Overlord - prompted by his habit of helping his favorite lieutenant - magically silenced their voices. When they were all dead, lich magic made the archer's into zombies that began to fire upon the elves below. As they sheltered under their shields from the rain of arrows, Ukdur and his army of orcs Leeroy Jenkinsed the elves. Soon enough, elementals summoned by the orc shamans arrived and the elven forces retreated into the deathly embrace of Skraal's Deathguard. Needless to say, not a single elf survived. "Our 1st victory is claimed" The Overlord's voice said from withing the minds of every lieutenant not in the throne room "But another problem has arisen. Return to me, there is much to discuss".

---

The battle is over, but another problem has arisen. Return to the throne room to find out more and plan the next move.

Ukdur is currently The Overlord's favorite Black Lieutenant.

Serikul felt a spider come to her face as she walked among the corpses, she had not allowed some of them to come for her spiders would need to feed. With that, she took up her mount once more and headed back to the fortress to be debriefed on the situation. Though a thought had occurred to her as she was traveling back, had the Overlord helped her during the fight? It would certainly explain why the elven archers had not actually screamed for help and that annoyed her as she enjoyed hearing the screams of pain at times, though it was no matter. The Spider Queen quickly arrived back at the fortress and she took her place on a balcony, overlooking the new human slaves. Serikul let out a light chuckle before casting her eyes upon the scenery.

She had grown up with a similar view but it was such a long time ago that it normally doesn't cross her as "emotional". Serikul shook her head and climbed over the stone railing and crawled under the balcony. The view was different now and her hair was flowing towards the ground as she stood upside down. It was funny how a change in perspective could actually dramatically change how something was perceived. Although, her mind still wandered to the past which involved all of her own friends. Serikul remembered running through the nearby fields and just having a good time, being kids.

"Hahaha, Seri, let's go to the cliff and just look at the sunrise!" Harry, an old red headed friend yelled. Serikul had been in love with this kid for a while so she had went along. They had laid there in the sun rise over the mountains of her home.

However, that scene was not to last in her mind as the scenes of her personally killing the entire town, friends included, rushed into her mind. That dread of guilt had still been with her even though she knew it had been a hate filled rage that had consumed her. Though tears still filled her eyes, she absolutely hated it. Serikul clenched her fists and looked around for the closest human. She leapt out and tore him asunder, hate and grief fueling her fit of rage at the moment.

As he predicted the bruised survivors had come running in fear towards them. The eternal lizard had put the four companies in an arc with their front liners forming a large shield wall with corridors in between them through which the rangers could easily transit.

It was a massacre. The elves more concerned for their own safety from the orcs behind than what stood right in front of them ran straight at their clutches. The fang leader rangers and their nasty repeating crossbows drew first blood in a spectacular synchronized shooting. Then their underlings in similar fashion while in two lined formation armed and with regular bows riddled the next group with poisoned arrows.

The spear carrying front liners with the shields broke formation in unison when it was clear no one would even challenge a single of their shields and after the order ran out they threw their spears killing but a few lucky (or unlucky depending where you see it from) elves.
These survivors knew they could not turn back but advancing also meant their death. The smart ones who forgot their elven values did the most sensible thing and simply took their own lives. Those who didn’t Skraal would make sure they would have wanted to.

“Report,” he ordered. As usual Jakaka was the one who answered. “We have captured twenty elves,” his deputy said as called a company leader he knew as Ertemu. The ruthless and tall lizard bowed before his lord and then motioned to his men. They brought twenty beaten and scared elves before him.

“The Overlord needs my presence which means another battle is coming prepare accordingly,” he announced in draconic to his warriors before centering his attention on his prisoners of war. The four companies acted swiftly as they quickly recovered their arrows and any weapons or valuable artifacts from among the corpses always with the deadly and chilling synchronization they were known for.

With him only his retinue, the Grave Wardens remained. They were far larger than their companions, only comparable to the big figure of Skraal himself and wore bulkier and scarier looking armors. Each carried his own terrifying looking weapon the most notable being Jakaka and his Scythe.

“You thought the orcs were the only ones you had to worry about didn’t you?” he spoke in elven. Obviously surprised the elves’ expressions darkened even more when they realized who they were talking to.

Most didn’t believe a 50,200 year old Dragonkin could really exist but each race had a name or story about the 5,000 year old black and green guard and their eternal and immortal leader, some talked about him as a myth, others as a bedtime story for their children, and a few wise ones as a very real threat but regardless of how, the Deathguard’s banner was known to all.

The Dragonkin paced in front of the forcibly kneeled elven warriors with a hand on the hilt of his sickle. “You know it is foolish and time costly to incite a trial by combat and I don’t have enough cells to hold all of you. My master is expecting my company soon and so it is imperative I deal with this matter quickly,” he told the elves as he wondered what to do.

“Why don’t you kill us all and be done with it,” A captain by what it seemed spat out. He tried to move but suddenly his head had been cut clean of his shoulders and touched the ground. To a regular human it would’ve just been a blurr of motion, while to these elven soldiers with quicker senses it was simply brutally fast.

“Excuse my esteemed Jakaka for beheading your friend here but the Grave Wardens can be a bit protective sometimes,” He said with humor as his second in command cleaned and sheathed his scythe. “Now, I’ll give you an option as it seems my army is ready to move,” Skraal began as he noticed the companies were already forming.

“Whoever manages to run the fastest gets to keep their lives,” he simply said as his retinue broke their chains. Half of the elves raced forward without hesitation. He motioned to the two Wardens with ranged weapons and they went up into the air. Tytus, armed with nasty looking javelins impaled the three fastest running elves and Drojal who carried a chain tied harpoon killed two of the ones that came briefly after them.

The pair of ranged fighters then threw bolas at the remaining five slowest elves who were still trying to escape and brought them back. Skraal turned to the nine who stayed “Either you are smart or too scared to act, I can’t be sure so only the two who wet themselves I can count on being scared, the rest of you failed the test,” he wasn’t done pronouncing test when the heads of the seven prisoners fell.

He then addressed the five bola tied elves. “You five reacted slowly or are slow so you also survive for today,” Skraal informed. The scared elves sighed in relief. “However, I can’t guarantee you are not going to try and run again so just as a precaution I’m taking one of your legs,” he added. The elves didn’t have time to protest or even process their sentence when Jakaka began severing their limbs with large swoops of his scythe.

As the elves cried and bled another of the Grave Wardens one with half of his face badly burned that had changed his name to Roast sealed their wounds with fire. “You tried running, this is the price,” he calmly stated amidst the endless screaming.

“Orders my liege?” Jakaka asked once he finished maiming the prisoners. “Fith Company shall await here if late due reinforcements come, sack these twenty fellows and then escort them to the Grey Mountains Vault. The rest will return to join the first company at the castle,” he said. Once again Jakaka started his intricate and swift show of fire. It had taken many years for them to develop the fire system but nowadays it was like talking.

Skraal decided to keep the knowledge of these prisoners to himself and set out for the castle at great speed. He arrived there second just after the spider queen and was surprised to see the Dragon there, the wizard was still on top of the castle but the Dragonkin simply pretended he wasn’t there while Bastian’s laughable servants roamed the castle so he had to be near. Ukdur had yet to return and the Lich was nowhere to be found as usual.

“What a surprise to find you here Calemvir,” he stated upon entry. He gave the usual forced nod to the spider and then addressed his lord. “Your excellence, what urgent news have made you summon all of us for a second time?”