Steel weapons cut through the air and clashed with armor and shields, singing their song. The low groans of the dying and the twangs of crossbows were faintly audible in the background, if one was listening. Somewhere, perhaps not so far away, there were grazing animals and warm cottages. But here, there was only blood. The red trickled away from the battlefield, staining the dirt and grass.

It was an odd thing to have your first memory be another being's last. Tumbling to the ground with a hundred arrows perforating your body, after being impaled by perhaps the sixth or seventh polearm, was hardly a heartfelt welcome. The great brute of a creature must have been ancient and powerful, as upon dying his soul was split in twain. And so it was that one spirit was created, with the knowledge of an entire lifetime yet not even a name or any memories. The other spirits that were created simply drifted around, having no real intelligence they either followed their erratic impulses or mindlessly roamed. However, that was not of importance, as the spirit of knowledge felt no bond or kinship. They all had come from one dying thing, brothers and sisters of the mind, but that meant nothing unless one wanted it to. 

With no memories or urges to tie it to this land, the spirit simply vanished into the void. Forgotten spirits from every world that ever existed could be found here, condemned to go insane waiting until the end of time. However, without any memories save his creation, the spirit of knowledge had no sense of time perception. The spirit gathered its thoughts. It soon realized that it had no name. Perhaps out of greed and desire to own something, rather than anything else, the spirit tried to name itself. It mashed syllables together until it found a combination it was content with. [i]Shaige.[/i]

After that, there was waiting. Other spirits came and went. For every one that was summoned back into a world of the living, countless more souls came in. Still, Shaige was more powerful than many of the others. Perhaps it was a few moments, or perhaps it was millennia. Did it matter? Eventually, Shaige was summoned.

The imps stood in a small cave. In the center were candles, a makeshift altar, and chalk summoning circles and glyphs of every kind. Carelessly strewn along the cavern walls were bags of tools, food, and anything else that the imps had managed to snatch from the unsuspecting locals. They had chanted in their demonic tongue and danced for hours, and their summoning ritual was finally done; but to no avail, it seemed. There had been a nervous air in the room as their ritual finished and the glyphs began glowing. Any keeper, from a terrible giant to a withered crone could have appeared, but after several moments of waiting the imps saw nothing.

One of the small, red demons croaked, "The ritual has never failed us. We have done something wrong."

Another rasped, "Can you fools not feel it? There are no Keepers on this world. We have no master to reawaken. Why would we come to this world, with no masters, in search of a master?"

The first one retorted, "If there are no dormant masters, the ritual will find one from another world, or bring back a dead one. It has never failed us."

The imps soon concluded that the ritual must have been done wrong, and started pointing fingers at each other for ruining it. Without any leader, the imps were an unruly mob of demons that were growing closer and closer to the verge of killing each other. So in the chaos nobody noticed that the tiny wisps of smoke from the candles was being blown around by some unseen force. As tempers rose, none of the demons felt the cold touch of Shaige's ghostly form. So it was with hesitation and annoyance that Shaige decided he had to speak to the imps, which would be no small task. Without any physical form he would have to use what little magical powers he had to manipulate the air in such a precise way.

The imps stopped when the air around them began whistling and moving. They could make out the words, "I...am not...of...the...sort...that...can be.......seeeeeeeen." The imps couldn't help but look around the room for the Keeper, despite his words. Indeed, Shaige was all but invisible, but the air around his ghostly form felt cold and seemed to simmer if one looked closely enough. Shaige hovered over the altar, and after a few moments the imps understood what he wanted without having to hear any more. They ransacked their bags of loot until they found an amulet encrusted with a small handful of gems. They pried the jewels out and enchanted them over the altar, then dropped them in a small glass vial. One of the imps then made an incision on his wrist and let him demonic blood drip into the vial. The imps had expected their master to touch the makeshift dungeon heart, to attune it, but instead the ghost managed to squeeze its entire form into the vial through the cork. 

The blood inside began to bubble, and foul vapors began seeping through the cork and up into the air. Realizing that their new master was working some sort of magic, the imps were quick to scuttle out of the cave. It was a terrible idea to distract a Keeper in a dungeon heart. Shaige began to imagine a creature, and as he did so, the vapors from the vial began to coalesce into a minion.

First Creature: 0/3 Posts

[b]Shaige's Stuff:[/b]
[u]Minions[/u]: 10 imps
[u]Resources[/u]: A few bags of tools and food for the imps. 
[u]Infrastructure[/u]: A dungeon heart, the imps' makeshift altar

[b]Compendium Info:[/b]

[u]Shaige[/u]- Ghost of a Keeper on another world. Has no real memories of his life, just facts and general knowledge. Without a corporeal form he is almost invisible and practically immune to everything except to magic. However, this goes both ways, as it takes an enormous amount of effort for him to do the smallest of things to the physical world.