"Orra - Sepurum - Sactasa - Lok" Was the last of the transmutation chant and Macaroth watched as the pool of quicksilver went still. A hand emerged from the pool that grabbed onto the ledge, a figure pulled himself up in front of him.

Macaroth marveled at his creation circling around him, almost ten feet tall now rippling with musculature carried on a pair of silvery wings that could extend six feet each but were now folded neatly on the angels back. His hair was also silvery and long and there was a glow about him, mere mortals would confuse it for divinity but Macaroth knew it was the glow of his own malevolence instilled in the creature.

By now the production buildings were complete and in use, all that was missing now was a mine of iron. Macaroth walked out with his new Son and the bandits that had gathered, now even more than before were dumbfounded by what they saw, some were even paralyzed by fear for they could not believe their eyes. He smiled to the crowd and extended his hand out toward the rabble "who else would be sanctified.." He turned his head to his Son and smiled "go and find me a mine would you?"

The Angel stepped forward and spread his mighty wings before taking flight to the sky with all the magnificence of old fables, his wings gleaming in the morning sun. The other bandits rushed to be blessed and indeed all of them would become his First Born, his elite vanguard for the war sure to ensue. He felt the presences of other evils, one in particularly annoyed him carrying with it the stench of undeath. How he despised necromancers and their work.

One by one he accepted the 20-ish bandits into the monastery and into his sanctum, within a day they would all be his Sons reborn.

Status:
Dungeon: Heart, Monastery - 300 yard circle of medium walls, Forge, Tanner, Fletcher, Blacksmith, Smelter.
Army:
21 Angels, 6 Monks, 15 Imps