Southern Coast of Naqah, 20,014 YS (Years After Saten)

An ominous galley of a design only glimpsed at from afar by Naqah sailors drifts closer and closer towards the southern coast of Naqah. As it came closer towards the locals who were starting to gather and watch, it became apparent that it was badly damaged, and had a ring of smaller crafts that were just as broken were surrounding it, trapping it, tied together with chains to achieve such an effect. The ships were stuck together, like the very bloody heap of corpses littering their decks. The colours of the local pirates became apparent, flapping high above the smaller crafts.

It was the result of a recent attempt to curb pirate activity, and the galley once belonged to the Fifth Naval Legion of the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes. There were no survivors - well, there were a few, but they were barely survivors. While any living pirates had long been slaughtered or abandoned ship, a few Daemonrexa marines were still breathing, but only barely. A Succubus, Imp and Nephilim lay huddled in separate corners of the top deck, surrounded by the corpses of their fellow marines. Wounded, hungry, thirsty, dying from exposure and wishing for death, they were unaware even of each other. All await their fate as the hull of their ship finally runs aground.

The natives of the lands they had drifted to would most likely kill them and take everything on their galley. However, all three Daemonrexa had hope within them, for the founding of the colonies on the mainland had proven that not all of them were evil.

Capital of Devaldis-Spes

The Sovereign of Devaldis-Spes, Sovereign Drengard, sat before a long table full of important looking Daemonrexa, half of them Nephilim. "What news do you bring from the colonies?" Drengard said, his voice low and ominous - as many Nephilim were.

"Much of the raiders, bandits and pirates infesting the southern shores has all but been purged." Another Nephilim reported, this one with a higher-pitched voice. She was female, yet she towered over Daemonrexa not of Nephilim class.

"We ensured that they die a slow, slow death." A Succubus from another corner of the table added, her voice unintentionally dancing, seductive. She giggled at the thought of her enemies suffering from the elements, "Even as we speak now, I'm sure they're still screaming and begging for mercy. It's been a few days, I believe."

"The humans who witnessed their up-ended crucifixion seemed to enjoy it." A Mediocris added.

"How many? And how many slaves?" Sovereign Drengard questioned.

"The latest estimates put the number of executed criminals down to about 193 - the worst of the worst. We've put the rest, all 591 of them in irons, if I remember correctly." An imp, whose head was just poking out from below the table, reported smartly, "What will you have us do now, your excellency?"

"We must keep wresting away the shorelines from these criminals, and march deeper into the mainland. South of these strange people - the Isbis - and the Northwestern shores will need cleansing."

"Sire, there is another... matter we need to speak about." The Succubus said.

She reported rumours from the colonies, stating that the they were on land and shores that were once graced by the presence of Saten-Dae himself and his followers as they set sail for what had become their capital. So specific were the rumours that they were quite believable, with additional details that there was a valley further up north - the same one that Saten-Dae passed through. However, with so much fighting going on, Sovereign Drangard could not commit any legions to investigate this, as the Succubus had requested it.

"Perhaps much later on." The Sovereign said, "Besides, those Hillmen ((Hel Core)) would likely be angered if they see us, should the myths ring true."

The GreyAnvil Capitol, Ashbridge.
The sounds of hammers clashing against anvil filled the entire smithing hall, every man, and woman working dutifully. Some were gathered near the tiny aquifer that seeped from the stone wall, drinking the cold liquid that seeped through. "I hear raids have been uneventful of late. More men died than treasure or slaves plundered the fault lies with new warchief! Has has done nothing but bring the clans shame. He has yet too bring a decent bounty in." A large male spoke loudly, his chest puffed out. He spoke defiantly and boldy to impress the few females around him. While his anvil brother shook his head softly "Brother, then why not challenge him during the trials if he is so shameful?" He opens his mouth to speak but was rudely interrupted by the hall doors being thrown open. In walked a large man, he stood half head taller than the average male, he wore simple furs, though his shoulders were decorated with the paws of a wolf, and on top of his head sat a crown made of silver, bronze and gold, By other nations Standards very primitive and plain. Following him were men dressed in patch work armor, all having a head of a slayen wolf for a cowl. The mere presence of the war chief caused all work to stop and everyone immediately kneeled before him showing their submission to his will. "Stand my brothers and sisters. I am not here on ceremony, but only here to visit my kins men!" Killenger spoke with a velvety, deep voice. A confused look was exchanged before all. He began to visit with the clansmeof engaging them with casual talk, soon though Destitor arrived, his exposed flesh covered in soot. "Ah warchief, to what pleasure do I owe the visit?" He spoke nervously, his eyes darting from the workers to him. "I would like you to start to count what we have in the hoard. I want numbers, and I want to know exactly what is in there." When he spoke his eyes drilled into destitor's his voice unfriendly now and menacing. "Till we see each other again then?" He immediately changed his tune, even giving a small smile as he left.

LowLanders, Mountain pass
There was a large caravan struggling up the steep trails, massive boars rigged with harnesses pulled on the wagons. With each wagon carrying hundreds of pounds of meat, and fruit. Everything was slow moving and the caravan seemed to stretch on for miles. A young man pushed on the back of his assigned wagon as it bogged down in the muddy trail. His body was covered in mud, and sweat. The animal ahead squealed with exertion. There seemed no end in sight as they made slow progress up the mountain. They had started early in the day before the sun had awoken and now the sun was preparing for sleep. But soon the trail Began to flatten out his steps became easier and the pig pulled the cart with ease again. He looked back and saw the treacherous path he had just cleared. Though there were still hundreds of wagons still making the journey the toughest part for him was over.

Deep within the mines of Ashbridge. The Descended.
The old man, sat in the equally old chair. He waited for the signal to start raising the elevator. His mind wondered to days of old, to the dark of the mines to the unending sea of ores that were extracted. He only had a general idea of what happend to the ores after they were dug up but he didn't really care all that much. But soon a heard a sharp whistle, and it was time for him to work. He stood up, giving a sharp kick to the slave by his feet. "Wake up you useless dog, hands on the winch, get yur ass moving!" He was quick and to the point. The worn out man struggled to his feet, and shuffled to the winch room. There lay two more sleeping slaves. He woke them and they slowly began to turn the winch raising from below a large deposit of ore. The bucket was heavy and old just like the machinery, it had come from the days of old or so the slaves had been told... The old man moved too the bucket as it got to the top, like usual his friend road the bucket up. They chatted briefly before he showed him the haul. They had struck a small gold vien but more importantly the vien was seated near iron. The old man chuckled and then moved to the runners room. He relayed the information and sent him on his marry way. He shuffled back to his chair where he sat with a soft plop. The winch rooms rhythmic sounds luling him to sleep.

GrimWrath, Gundor
Kerrigore stared at the massive map before him. It gave him a general idea of what the entire territory of Helcore, and some of what the north,south, and west had to offer. The recent raids on the northern Grey skins had been unsuccessful... Those damned forts held well against large parties. He carefully inspected where his units currently were. He had 2,000 men guarding the food caravan. 1,000 men patrolling all tunnels, he had a third wrath constantly scouring the edge of the forest and the thicket searching for any sort of scouts, trespassers, or military types. The next third of Wrath was up for drill, and inspection. While the final third slept and waited to relieve their current brothers from patrol. Grim was stationed every where, guarding towns, roads. Patrolling, and inspecting the state of the defences. They were in charge of the traps spread through out the forests, the trails and the tunnel entrances. He had roughly 5,000 men of Grim on standby ready to deploy. They drilled and trained day in and out waiting yo be cycled through the patrols

Kerrigore tapped his finger thoughtfully upon his chin, as he further studied the Greg skinns. He formulated an idea within his head, waiting for his warchieften to return from his rounds.

The sight of the boat was disturbing, to say the least. Naqah's fishermen rarely went beyond the shallow waters - the pirates never bothered them unless there were shipments going in or out. The locals were not used to such savagery.

It wasn't long before a detachment of the Royal Regiment came to investigate the ship and disperse anyone who had come to see it. It was a sorry sight. Corpses scattered everywhere, the ship was in tatters and the flag of the pirates was flapping away, taunting both the suvivors and the Regiment.

"Alright, lads, let's not lose our heads" the Captain of the assembled Warriors said, his voice firm "When we get on board, the firstthing we do is search for survivors. Niraph is just down the road - if you find anyone, take them back to the baracks there. Then search the ship for salvage - find anything useful and recover it. Finally, we give these poor sods a quick funeral. No one should ever have to see this. Are we agreed?""
A mumble of agreement came the lips of each soldier. This was disheartening. They'd take duelling with Wildlings over this any day.

The men scrambled aboard and instantly, half of them cursed
"Fomorii! (Demons!)"
Many had heard legends about the grey-skinned creatures that lived in the east. They were strong, intelligent warriors, who turned anyone who got close enough into one of them. If something had taken these creatures down, perhaps something even more terrifying dwelled in the water.
"Gentlemen, please. Surely you don't believe in a bunch of myths and legends?" the Captain quickly regained control of the situation "If there are Fomorii on board, do not harm them. They will be weak and confused. A true Warrior never strikes a weaker soldier first. Now, spread out. Let's see if any of these beasts survived"
And with that, the soldiers began to search the boat.

"I got a live one!" A young guard looked at the Succubus with a mix of fear and curiosity. His scimitar was drawn, but he held it in a defensive stance, ready to strike if the demon made for him.
"Are you okay, demon? Are you hurt?" the guard nervously whispered. "What happened here?"

"Big Fomorii!" the call rang out from the other end of the ship. Two guards studied the Nephilim carefully, watching for any offensive manouvres. One was fairly young, with short blonde hair and a handsome face. The other was slightly older, with a full goatee and jet black hair.
"It looks badly hurt" the older one noted
"Perhaps we should just kill it" the younger one responded "it would be more merciful"
"More merciful? I don't think you know what mercy is."
"You want to let him starve to death? Or die of exposure?"
"No, I want a healer to look him over. We make sure he isn't beyond saving before we stick a sword through his gullet."
"I wonder..." the blonde one ponders for a moment, then says, in the Common Language "Demon. Can you speak? Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The bearded guard simply looks at the Nephilim and awaits a response.

"Another survivor!" a female Warrior looks at the Imp with genuine warmth in her eyes. She kneels down, brushing her brown hair out of her eyes in the process
"Rough journey, huh, little guy? It's alright, you're safe now."

Southern Coast of Naqah

The Succubus, no doubt a newly initiated Follower as she wore only helmet and scant steel-bronze plates over her limps, some bits of which had been damaged and lost in combat, shivered at the sight of the scimitar flashing before her eyes. She had sustained a long and ugly diagonal gash across her abdomen. Being a Succubus, she wore no armour at all around the torso, and is in fact totally naked from head to the thighs, relying on agility and beauty for protection.

Upon hearing the guard with the Scimitar spoke, she came alive a little, her tail twitching as she thought about the unfamiliar words. The language of the Naqah was almost alien to her, but having previously been an actress and a poet before she decided to serve her people as a soldier, she had learnt of the language, and even visited a tribe living near the Naqah. Most of it she had learnt from a Naqah Daemonrexiac who was once a marooned explorer a few centuries ago. What she had learnt, however, were but a small precious percentage of the entire language. Struggling to think past the burning sensation down her throat and the murderous pain that had spread throughout her body, she replied with the little Naqah she knew.

"5... 1." She said, in an almost hopeless attempt to describe how outnumbered they were. The warrior's language had never been her favorite in the beginning, much less describing it in a foreign language. "Bad men-" A hacking cough made her stop, and the pain in her abdomen flared. Looking up with tears falling, she begged the guard, "Pain! Please! Pain! Hurts! Don't hurt me!" And when she looked up, the blood that painted her pale, sickly face was obvious, and so was the dent in her helmet, a sign that a brutal mace was brought down upon her head during battle.

The Nephilim reacted differently. Upon seeing the pair of guards, he tried to scream a battlecry at them but failed miserably as his voice gave way in a series of desperate grunts and hacking coughs from the deep thirst in his throat. Their speech was stirring up his rage, however, as the foreign language which he knew nothing of seemed ominous. After numerous tries, he growled and finally managed to bellow a battlecry, although it was weaker and more desperate than the full effect. Flinging himself up into a messy sitting position, it grabbed a nearby handheld ballista in hand, extremely quick for something his size, and pointed it at the guards, the huge weapon shaking as the Nephilim's massive strength was running out.

The handheld ballista was huge, a beast even taller than a human being when stood on its stock, and the bolt not far behind, being able to skewer several soldiers when fired. However, it could only fire once before needing a reload, and the desperate Nephilim knew this well, and as he saw a number of guards around, refused to fire and instead used it to threaten the guards. Though his imposing presence was enough. The Nephilim was twice the size of a Naqah, and this particular one was armoured from head to hoof, implying a high rank to the aliens, as a common Nephilim soldier would have come only in a helmet and a heart protector held in place by leather. However, much of his armour was bent and torn. Cuts and stab wounds were all over its body. A harpoon had impaled his shoulder clean through. His eyes shone red with battle rage as he screamed in his native language for the guards to surrender or suffer the worst fate possible..

The imp, upon seeing the woman Naqah, shrunk away from her, squeezing itself further into its corner. Despite being a Zealot in rank, as his older scars had shown, and the regular, if battered legion armour he wore indicated, he was also a young imp, less than half a century old, Zealot only because he had dedicated his life to the legions of Devaldis-Spes the moment he was of age. Having long been broken by the merciless attack of the pirates, he could not bring himself to do what the Nephilim did, and was instead holding onto his short spear as if holding on to dear life rather than a weapon. He remembered his parents telling him that he should have spent some time in the academy instead, discovering the world through numbers, letters and banter. He had never seen a battle as vicious as this before, and was beginning to think that they were right - after all, if one was to die, he should do it well into his endless life rather than at the beginning of it.

SADORRA, SECULCIA



The streets of Sadorra lay empty today. An outsider could be forgiven for thinking that the Seculcians had packed up their possessions and fled in the night, had it not been for the odd slave who darted across the cobbled streets, head bowed low as they went about some essential errand. The stasis of the city was absolute - or at least, it appeared so - but there was a hum in their air that permeated the opulent surroundings of Sadorra. The sun blazed from above, illuminating the great buildings and pyramids that formed the city. Many of them were built of grey stone, and moss and vines had been allowed to grow up them. Birds trilling their song excitedly from the trees that lined the city's great boulevards, and the trickle of water from a hundred fountains were the only indications that the city yet lived, inhabited still.

The centre of Sadorra revealed why. The Great Archanion towered upwards from the centre of the city, a monolith and a monument to the power of the Goddess-Queen Ealsi. It had been built with brilliant marble and limestone from the southern shores, a circular colosseum and temple alike studded with gemstones along its facades and with the capacity to hold every man, woman and child in Sadorra - slave, freeman and Seculcian alike. As one would approach the centre of the city, a roaring would intensify, filling the air with its soft and then hardened thrum. The city was emptied, today, by order of the Goddess-Queen herself.

Inside The Archanion the atmosphere was electric and tense. On the highest level of the great circular structure were the balconies of the Seculcians. Here, the elite lounged on beds and chairs and litters, attended by their house slaves with sweet wines and platters of food. Grapes, olives, cold cuts of meats and soft white pastries were handed to the Seculcians on silvery platters by their attendants. Women and men alike dressed in the fine cloth of their status, with splashes of red and purple and green illuminated by the day's sunlight. Jewels glittered as they hung off of the pavilions that shaded the women from the sun, and the earrings of both men and women. Their vast amounts of jewellery clinked and cast beams of golden light out over the balcony. The scene was nothing if not entirely opulent.

One part of the ring was closed off with a great white curtain, studded with the fine clear diamonds that denoted the royalty. Inside, and visible only to the Seculcians, sat the Goddess-Queen herself. Eight slaves stood at either side of the woman, who herself was seated on the fine pelt of a mountain tiger atop a throne of glimmering gold. She was shrouded entirely in white, a great train of material leading down away from her. Everything within her private pavilion was studded with the blood red splashes of ruby. The white of her clothes was entirely unblemished - the mark of the royal.

Below the first ring, on a larger stand containing sandstone benches, were the freedman. Dressed in a variety of clothes of various types, with skin of hues ranging from the palest white to the darkest ebon, they constituted a vast amount of the crowd. No slaves attended them, though the occasional flash of jewellery was the sole reminder of the prestige and wealth that could be gathered by the freemen of the Seculcian Empire. The third ring, at ground level, was far less luxuriant. Darkness encapsulated this area, the standing area sheltered from the sun by the great rings above it. Here, there were no seats. Slaves stood on hard packed ground, dressed in the rags and the hard cloth clothing of their position.

The crowd babbled excitedly, slave and freedman and Seculcian alike. Today was the Day of the Red Ruby - a marked celebration in the religious calendar of the Seculcians. It marked the supposed day when the War-God Kallai had came down onto the plains of the world and stolen up the Mountain Warrior Queen Merititi to be his Queen in the Pantheon of Fire. The day was marked with merriment, celebration, dancing, music, and human sacrifice.

A silence descended on the crowd as if a great blanket had been cast over them. Atop The Archanion, a single man had risen from his seat within the Seculcian ring. He had four emerald rings hanging from his large nose, and his shaven head bore a branded mark. That, alongside his verdant robes, marked him as the High Priest of Kallai - Netili of Miïr. "People of Seculcia!" He called, gesturing to his fellows on the highest level. From the upper level, his voice rebounded and echoed throughout the whole Archanion. "Free men of Sadorra," He continued. "Slaves of the Gods. This day is the Day of the Red Ruby, when Kallai had seen the work of the Queen Merititi of the Warrior Kingdom and knew it to be fierce. On this day we honour her rape. We honour the transcendence of the mere mortal Warrior Queen to the Great Above, and her transformation into Mertia, Goddess of the Hunt. We honour own slaves today and give them, too, the chance to ascend to the Above. In the name of the Goddess-Queen Ealsi-" At this, the shimmering white figure rose, and the entire stadium exploded with roars of approval and ecstasy that shook the very foundations of the structure. "-I dedicate these games as sacrifices,"

Ealsi gestured softly, and a ruby was let loose from her hand. It shimmed in the air as it fell, landing in the dust at the bottom of The Archanion - in the centre of its great ring. The games had begun. At the side of the ring, cages were opened. A female slave, regaled in wood and iron armour that hung off of her body awkwardly and armed with a blunt iron sword stumbled, with some disorientation, into the sunlight. Opposite, on the other side, a bear was loosed - the symbol of Kallai's fury. The screams of the young slaved mingled and become indistinguishable as the crowd screamed simultaneously - but with bloodlust - as the bear charged towards her.

Ilk Qala, the First Fort of the Seven Forts constructed after the war that unified Qanaxma Deniz under a single ruler. Built to keep out the barbarian rabble from HelCore, built atop the ruined carcass of one of their cities, built as a sign of the power of the Kisiler Qanaxma. Now all that remained of the centuries-old ruin were the bases and a few ruined stone walls, with the great walls of Ilk Qala rising from its ashes. And at present, cries could be heard from within the walls, coming from within a great courtyard in the center of the fort. While the Seven Forts were constructed primarily to prevent any large raids from penetrating into the interior of Qanaxma Deniz, that didn't mean all of the small raids slipped past. Instead, those unlucky enough to be caught were thrown into the dungeons in the lowest levels of Ilk Qala. Until Rustam Komandan, the Komandan of the Seven Forts, decided they had enough prisoners.

After that, they had 5 hung from the walls of the Forts. Hung improperly so that their necks did not snap, but instead left there to suffocate and die painfully gasping for air. Six more of them had been held done screaming while they were impaled upon massive wooden spikes. Then most of the remaining prisoners were tied to posts in the courtyard, and were currently screaming in pain as the soldiers garrisoning the fort used them all for target practice. Though truth be told not all the rest were to be riddled full of Kisil arrows and die gargling on their own blood. Rustam had left two alive to watch the fate of their comrades, and to relay it back to their barbarian kin in HelCore. Rustam smiled as he watched the pair flee to the southwest, wondering what exactly they would say about their experience. After all, they'd never even seen Rustam's face despite the man periodically visiting them while they were in the dungeon and telling them of the fate that awaited them. No, all they'd seen was his beautifully sculpted golden mask, made in the shape of smiling old man. He found his golden face rather ironic; Rustam himself had yet to reach his thirtieth year and as any soldier could tell you he never smiled either. Rustam briefly wondered whether the two men would even be able to make it far enough to reach their brethren before dying from the bright and scorching sun. It didn't really matter however, since the barbarians in HelCore probably wouldn't be smart enough to heed the warning and would instead continue to send men off to raid the lands of Qanaxma Deniz.

The roar, despite it's weakness, and the manouvering of the ballista was enough to make the two guards instinctively draw their weapons. Several nearby Warriors did the same thing.

"Drop the bow, Fomorii!" the blonde one yelped, his axe held high, ready to bring it down in a moments notice.
"Ballista" the bearded one corrected, his own scimitar held in a more defensive posture. Then, in a more soothing tone he said "We do not wish to fight you. This is your only chance to walk away - alive. If we fight, one of us won't. Ask yourself, friend - will the gods smile on me today?"

The commotion caught the Captains attention. He rushed over to the standoff, his short captain's cloak blowing impressively behind him. Whilst he had never met any of the Fomorii, part of his training was a negotiator. Now seemed like the right time to practice those skills.
"Stand down, lads! Sheathe your weapons!"
The guards did so, however slowly and reluctantly.
"Fomorii" the captain adressed the enraged Nephilim directly "Weapon. Down"
To illustrate his point, the captain removed his scabbard from his hip and put in on the ground, then stepped away from it.
One of the guards tried to protest, but was swiftly silenced by his fellow soldiers. Their eyes turned to the snarling devil, awaiting it's next move.

"I'm not going to hurt you" the guard with the Succubus reassured, swiftly sheathing his scimitar. She was in a bad way, and needed help. Fast.
Thinking about the injury on her abdomen, he pulled his flask from his hip. He was no healer, but he knew that open wounds needed to be cleansed - there was no point in fixing the poor girl up for her to succumb to disease later.
The soldier acted quickly. Tearing a strand of cloth from his sleeve, he opened the flask and poured the water onto the wound. When about half the flask was used, he handed the rest to the Succubus and signalled her to drink. Then, he started wrapping the makeshift cloth around the gash, praying it would do until they got to a proper healer.

"It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you"
The female soldier ignored the calls of the Nephilim or the yelling of the other guards. Instead, she offered her hand to the cowering demon, with compassion in her eyes and a smile on her lips. She looked genuinely warm and friendly, with little malice about her.

LowLands Border

In the early hours of the morning a hobbled figure shuffled into the LowLands. A body ragged and beat, fell to the ground. After a few moments it moaned softly, like that of a wounded animal.

The watchers stayed hidden for the time being watching and waiting for a trap. With silent nods three emerged from their hidding place, two watched their flanks bows drawn. The third split the middle. They moved silently, their feet making no sound over the shrubbed terrain. Once they reached the body,it was apprent that it was in fact a he, his feet were bleeding, run raw, he suffered superficials and scrapes to his limbs and face. They stood in silence, it was easy to tell he was a brother from the tattoos that adorned his exposed flesh. They cuffed him by the arm pits, the third man slowly moved backwards covering their trail. Once they were in the thicket again he gave a sharp whistle. And from the brush seventeen other archers appeared making a defensive line waiting to cover their brothers retreat. Once far enough into the woods they all disappeared back into the brushes.

The journey took a day, and the man slipped further into his sleep though they managed to pack his wounds with dirt It was not likely he would make it. They laid him on the path towards the top of the mountain his body trembled, and quivered. He opened his eyes for a brief moment after a light slap across the cheek...Then they coaxed the tail of their capture came to be known. The archer's brow pushed together his face showing some troubled thoughts. "I'll make sure the Warchief hears." He drew his hunting knife from his boot, and quickly drove it into throat of the man, the knife digging into his spine. "May you earn enough honor to join the hunt brother." After the convulsing stopped he withdrew his blade wiping the blood off and slid it back into his boot. He looked to his counter part " Ready brother?" With that they headed up the mountain.

Ashbridge Fortress

Kerrigore listened carefully to the two men As they recounted the tale, he gave a soft sigh. In all his years as GrimWrath Clan Elder he had never been so dissapointed. He waved the men away and continued to study his maps. Tapping his chin softly, occasionally he used a bit of charcoal to sketch on the stone map. ( which had been carved into the large table years earlier ) "Bring me our most accomplished raiders, I want ten of them. " The guard at the door dipped out. He knew it would be an hour Or more before he had them here. The younger warriors viewed him as mysterious because often times he didn't speak or let his plans be known until they were being put into action.

Several hours later the sun was getting ready to set. And in road ten men all mounted upon their elk. They tied up their mounts and hurried inside. They strolled into the war room, and were surprised to find themselves alone there. But soon kerrigore strolled in with his greying hair. The men kneeled "Evening Brothers, please stand, now yo why i called you here , you ten know the northern land the best.Your in depth knowledge of the land will aid in what I'm trying to accomplish. But first I need you to tell of the forts that form their border". They stood in awkward silence as they were never asked their opinion before but soon some one broke the silence "Aye, Chieften." And then they engaged in discussion talking and planing it went on into the wee hours of the morning.

Ashbridge Hoard

Destitor stood with his arms crossed. His eyes watching the slaves carefully as they finished counting the final bars iron. The whole hall looked organized and much neater since the war chief had them organize and take down how many of each bar. He was pleasently surprised at the slaves reaction when they first entered the hall. As far as he knew they were the first people other than his brothers and sisters to have ever stepped foot into the hoard hall.

They stood in a row all smiling and laughing with one another. They knew destitor to be one of the softer of his kind and often permitted this kind of behavior. "You have the count right? You wrote it down so I can show the Warchief?" They all nodded almost in unison. "Who is the smartest of you five?" They looked at each other confused till three of them raised their hands. " The three of you then? " in a flash he drew his short sword, he cut down the two who had not raised their hands. " You three will keep track of the hoard. You're never to leave this hall again. " He left the hall and four burly men walked in dragging large chains. They fashioned them around d their ankles and neck, and then to the wall. Riveting each one so that escape was almost impossible

Suehania

The odds of a raid could not be any higher; every Suehan worth his salt knew that. The combination of extant factors, such as strict arms control, complacency in the Crayven Core lands, the glacial pace of Crayven adaptation to Suehan tactics, Suehan cavalry superiority and two new factors, namely unprecedented internal stability, raid profitability, and a very cold Autumn (hinting at an even colder Winter) to prevent any sort of retaliation till Spring or later meant that this was the best chance Kunungr Arminahz was ever going to get to permanently leave his mark on history and propel his ferocious confederation from a backwater northern collection of tribes to the station it deserved, a place among all the great nations of the world, and to assume their stature. If he was ever to lay a weight to break this camel’s back, it was now.

The Kunungr had been preparing for this moment his whole reign. Every year about this time he would call for a mass mobilization of the horsemen, sometimes followed with minor action, sometimes none at all. The Gothis complained then, but all saw the purpose now. Assembled around his humble city, an equal number to its population of trained horsemen. 9,000 Ridonjar, 1,000 Valkyrja, and not the least, all 2,000 of the Marahuskarlar, among them his two sons Thiudareiks and Audawakrs, in glittering mail and scail.
The enormous giant of a man, even for a Suehan, stood at 7’2”, and through this physical presence and his inherent authority, had turned the raving bands into a disciplined and well regulated force, at least by Suehan standards. No warrior would charge unless ordered by his superior, and him by his superior, and that was as good as any one man could hope to accomplish in a single lifetime.

At this point he issued down the chain of command the rules of engagement: “If a town surrenders, it is to be treated well. Only food enough for reasonable provision and valuables are to be taken. However, if it resists at all, food, human slaves, valuables are all fair game. For every one of us they kill, exact vengeance tenfold on the population. It is well within our interest to convince them that surrender is worth our time. Arrow resupply will be minimal at best, so the 90 each Ridonr leaves here with will have to suffice. No wasted shots, aim for the softer spots to preserve the arrowheads. ” He looked at his subordinates, and smiled “And ride faster than the northern wind. Hiyah!”

As he galloped off to lead the horde, his officers picked up a chant. “WES THU HAIL! WES THU HAIL! WES THU HAIL!” This passed down to the soldiers, and all 12,000 were chanting in one voice. “WES THU HAIL! WES THUS HAIL! WES THU HAAAAAAAAAAAIL FRAWJON!”
The plan the Kunungr had set it place called for looping around to the east; normal Suehan raids took the shortest path possible and so the people and the soldiers there had come to expect it. By looping east and coming back west, they would cut across virgin land, untouched by their hooves.

The icy wind of the gods was about to blow across Crayvenhart, bringing snow, ice, and arrows.

Southern Coast of Naqah

The fact that the strange new small-lings tried to talk to him was not lost upon the Nephilim. Looking around at his own ship, now no longer resembling what it once was, he realised that no amount of struggle would never bring his crew back, nor restore his ship to its former glory. What appears to be the leader of these small foreigners, from what he could gather from his gestures - his words meant nothing to him - was that he wanted his weapon down. The Nephilim could not tell what their intentions were after he did. Seeing himself as a failure to his crew, however, he was beginning to care less.

Shifting his massive man-sized ballista from target to target, his arms spasming increasingly as time passed, he eventually threw it aside, and pulling the man-sized bolt out and tossing it aside nonchalantly, the Nephilim said in Daemonrexa, "Do what you want with me. I care no more," his words rough and loud. After that, he spat a huge glob of saliva and blood onto the corpse of a human pirate he had slaughtered in battle. At the very least, the Nephilim could take comfort in the number of humans he killed - he counted 33 of them. He chuckled at the thought as he awaited his fate.

The moment the guard's wet cloth touched her wound, the Succubus Follower howled in pain as she latched onto the guard, her grip weak. She did not let go when the ordeal was over. "Please. Don't leave me." She said in the Naqah's language, remembering the words she used in one of her poems. When the bottle of water was given to her, she tried to bring it to her lips, but found it to be too heavy, especially when the pain that was spreading throughout her entire body had worsened. Bit by bit, her vision began to blur. She dropped the bottle and fell unconscious.

Deducing that the Naqah was friendly, the imp puts aside his short spear obediently and took the woman guard's hand, his own shaking from shock, and tried to stand up on his hooves, nearly falling from his knees buckling, but succeeding in the end. A mean stab wound on his thigh impeded his efforts to walk properly, but slowly, step by step, he came over to the woman.

South-East of Naqah, in Deep Waters

"There! I see it!" An imp pointed at a bit of flotsam on the water, off a side of the command ship. As the massive galley got closer to the flotsam, the crowd of soldiers that were gathering saw what was written on the largest piece of wood: "Kha-Selem". The name of the lost ship. "We're getting close, I know it! The evidences are there!"

Then a human was found amongst the floating debris. When he was pulled up, he was questioned, and freedom was promised to the pirate if he cooperated. Literally smelling an escape from his predicament, the human readily betrayed his captain's plans: That the feigned attack on the 5th Naval Legion was a ruse to draw a ship or two away, and with even more hiding in the fog, they would take it captive and demand ransom for it, only, they had no plans to release the captured ship but to enslave and possibly sell its occupants. The captain had planned to keep a few Daemonrexa women captives for his own use. The pirate captain had also promised use of his Daemonrexa 'wenches' to his crew should they do well in battle.

Upon hearing this, the Warmaster, a formidable Nephilim that was a head taller than even the other Nephilims on board, also captain of the command ship, drew his knife, which was about the length of a human's long sword but wider, and stabbed him in the chest, the sheer force of the strike breaking the body of the human. "Throw that *filth* overboard. By Saten's name, I doubt even the fishes would feed off his carcass! I want five soldiers to clean up his disgusting blood here!"

"We will continue sailing in this direction!" The captain of the ship, a Nephilim, ordered, and everyone scampered back to their posts. Should the oarsmen and wind hold true, the captain made an educated guess that they could reach their missing ship within a few day's time.

Top level of the Claudicus wall section, Fortitude.
Atop the glorious master construction of Imperial might, Fortitude and it's three wall sections: Claudicus, Miralicum and Cerianum. Each wall section spanning many hundred meters and going upwards at mountain scales, it's construction spans the entire history of the Imperium and yet there's more to be added, even whilst more than clearly finished, the project that is Fortitude will never be completed. On the very top of the Claudicus wall section, also known as the Gate of Eternity, the massive gate which welcomes the traveler and the warrior inside the halls and amazing appearence of Fortitude.

The very top of Claudicus, the Imperial district of the wall is the home to the Emperor and his family, no one else but the royal guard and servants may enter this holy place unless walking into the Imperial Cathedral within the halls of the wall to pray towards the Emperor and hope that he would bring his people into the future. One would imagine that there couldn't be more put into these glorious and masterful walls, but not quite, the very top of these walls remain used, not for warriors but for buildings of many kinds, the Imperial wall section houses the very Imperial Palace on top of the graceful walls, and on a balcony, the third tallest placed balcony in the entirety of Fortitude stands an incredibly well clad man, flying around him a golden clad eagle, something which looked fantastical, it's beak tipped with a supposed emerald, jewels connected into it's furr and wings. The man which the eagle circled had an almost unmatchable aura of royalty and power, yet his eyes seemed kind, his clothing was unmatchable in beauty and almost everything else.

''You are a symbol of the peoples freedom, you are their hope, you are the Imperiums holy icon, without you, the eagle, people would cower in fear before the barbarian, before the invader and even before disease. You stand besides me, on my shoulder you council me and when you fly besides me you are even my hope. People are ignorant, as long as they have something to focus their beliefs upon they will be satisfied. I am a son of my father, whom was the decendant of the supposedly 'god sent' Emperor whom created this Imperium which I now rule. You, Craxus, are my only friend in this world, not even my son, nor my wife are closer than you are to me, you are my hope and freedom, you are the wings which I fly in my dreams...'' The man said to the eagle as it sat down on the edge of the balcony, it screeched, it's voice echoed the Claudicus wall section and it suddenly took of into a journey through Fortitude, it flew above and across the Claudicus wall section, into the Miralicum wall section, the home of the Wall guard of the Holy Legion, Miralicum was nothing more than an amazing construction of a fortress, an entire wall section made for the sole reason of housing legioneers and even slaves whom serve the Legioneers of the wall.

The eagle flew back across both Miralicum and the Claudicus wall sections and over the Cerianum wall section, the fortress of the Royal guard detachment of the Holy Legion and their slaves. The eagle flew over the massive housing area behind the Cyrandrian wall of Fortitude, the walls which protected Fortitude. The eagle flew for hourse over the urban area and eventually came across the Chaplion, the religious military fortress which acts as the heart of all Holy Legion activity in the Imperium, it's scale and epic appearence rivaled the Imperial Palace itself. The eagle flew towards the edge of Fortitude and came across the Great Harbor, home of the huge and epic statues carved into the rock of the Great Mountains.

The eagle then made a complete turn, flew lower and witnessed the activity of the city, regular patrols of 10 legioneers walking through the urban areas of Fortitude and bringing peace together with their heavy weapons and armor, the armor was beautiful indeed, nothing was supposedly too artistic for the Imperial smiths. Eagles of copper coated in gold sitting and watching over the shoulder of the Holy Legioneer, their helmets equipped with eagle wings coated again in gold, just like their armor. Even their swords and shields had wings or something artistic placed upon them. The eagle however continued flying, unfaced by what was going on below, one could explain Fortitude with two simple words: ''Active and beautiful.''

The eagle flew back and landed at the very top of the Imperial Palace, also known as the Eagles Nest, there Craxus would sit for hours, watching over the city, clearly visible as its silhouette was clear infront of the suns light. Fortitude is the capitol of everything, or so anyone whom live inside the Imperium see it, massive trading hubs and the harbor is filled with trading boats bringing supplies, food and slaves to the markets of the Imperium. Now sitting on the eagle throne the Emperor himself spoke looked to his left and saw the Empress, Julian of Solitude. ''You. Woman. Leave me here to rot, leave me here to wander... To wander the planes of imagination...'' He changes his pose to that of a bothered young and beautiful man, placing his head on his hand he remained silent, his red eyes glaring at the massive royal hall gate. ''As you wish... My Emperor.'' She said casually, turned and walked away, but suddenly the Emperor spoke up once more. ''You have one purpose, nothing but that... Don't manipulate my hospitality...'' He said as the woman left the hall through a back door passage which would lead to the royal district.

The Emperors name was Magnus Sigismund the VII, as he sat in his throne room he appeared as if he was in grave pain, his magnificent robes and beautiful figure clad the eagle throne magnificently. He closed his eyes and tried to escape to the realm of deaming and eventually he left conciousness and entered his beloved dreaming realm.

"It's alright. You're safe now." the guard with the scimitar had smiled while the Succubus was still concious. There was a kind of alien prettyness about the Demon, something that just compelled him to help her. Doubtlessly, she would look beautiful when she was patched up.
In that moment, he made a vow. Whilst he was around, no further harm would come to this demon.
He felt her grip weaken. He saw her eyes shut and felt her breathing shallowing. She was dying.
"Nonononono!" he gasped, lightly smacking her face to wake her up. "Stay awake, damnit. Stay strong."
Everyone else, as far as he could see, was dealing with the Big Fomorii at the other end of the boat. He was truely on his own.
"Balor's eye!" he cursed, gently lifting the incapacitated Succubus, one hand supporting her head, the other supporting her legs. He moved as quick as he comfortably could, trying to exit the boat to get back to Niraph. There were doctors there who could save her - he could do no more with out the proper equipment. Thankfully, the village was quite close to the crashed boat. As long as nothing happened, he could get there within a minute or two.

The girl with the Imp supported him as he tried to walk, reaching out when it looked like he was going to fall over. As he got closer, an injury on his thigh became all too clear. It was nasty, preventing the poor thing from walking normally. Hopefully, there was nothing that serious about it, or any other wound that he would have sustained.
"Ok, little guy, you can relax. We'll get you to a doctor and you'll be fixed up in no time"
It never occured to the guard that the imp was older than he looked, or that he might not understand her language. Rather, she took the dwarvish demon by the hand and began to lead him off the boat.

The captain was suprised at how simple it was to get the Fomorii to put his weapon down. Usually, negotiations take much more effort and time, but this one seemed... almost resigned to his fate.
The meaning of the beasts words was lost on the soldiers, but his tone was clear - he had given up.
"Fight" the captain said, making swordplay gestures. "Are you hurt?" he grimaced and pretended to hold a wound, his tone one of sympathetic questioning.

Southern Coast of Naqah

The Nephilim Captain continued entertaining his Naqah hosts even after he had been struck by an awful wave of grief and sadness, trying to look into his counterpart's words and gestures for meaning. For a moment he was puzzled, but then it slowly became clear that his counterpart may not be the smartest soldier in the region. The Nephilim found this strangely invigorating somehow. Shifting himself, trying to sit upright, he could not be helped but to be angered by this.

"What does it look like!?" The Nephilim bellowed, waving a hand over the harpoon stuck in his shoulders and the numerous cuts and stabs that had gotten past his armour when it eventually broke from the strikes of a hundred human weapons. The rage had given the Nephilim enough strength to attempt standing up. Grabbing hold of the railing of the ship, it tried to boost itself up, nearly succeeding in getting on his hooves when the railing, having been damaged before, broke in two, sending splinters everywhere, and the Nephilim was sent tumbling back down on its huge buttocks. "Damn the Rex-Na!!!" He screamed in pain as the tip of the harpoon that was sticking out from the back of his shoulder was caught on the railing briefly before he recoiled away.

The Succubus being carried off the galley was out of it, but had regained a little consciousness. Unable to see or hear properly, or even move much, all that registers was that she was floating, and in the warm embrace of someone. She wrapped her arms around that person's neck, putting her head on his shoulder. It felt cooling - many mainlanders were cool to the touch, though for some reason the friendlier mainlanders would regularly comment that the Daemonrexa were perpetually in a fever, or jokingly, 'in heat', which wasn't exactly far from the truth, as the freedom of Daemonrexa society ensured that sexual promiscuity was normal with abstinence considered odd, though the Daemonrexa possessed little desire to discriminate.

As the Imp was being left off, it looked up at his escort and gave a wide smile. As an imp's mouth was huge, the effect would be hard to notice.

Niraph
The town was in a state of shock. Production had slowed, guard shifts had doubled and the local healer was now unavailable. Not to mention the new, fleshy banners that adorned the town walls.
It had been a few days since the local Royal Regiment had brought back the Fomorii. They were badly hurt and needed immediate medical assistance. The healer had his hands full looking after them.
The bodies and ship had been burned, but not before a few of the pirate corpses had been used to make a few new anti-piracy warnings. The things on the ship could be found at te guards baracks, having been "put under protection" until the original owners could reclaim it. Anything that wasn't nailed down had been taken foe safety's sake.
And, of course, the population were suspicious. A strange new creature appears, having engaged in a fight against pirates, threatens their guards and distracts their healer. Thankfully, the Naqar were accepting people, happy to share. They just hoped that the Demons didn't take too long to heal.

???

Lyrus walked softly through the forest, scared his footsteps might alert anything nearby to his presence. He was hardly prepared for company, hostile or friendly.
Not that he was likely to find a friend in this damn place. The trees grew thick and tall, their lower branches raking the exposed flesh on the young man's arm. Even during the day, Lyrus doubted there would be much light. At midnight, he could barely see the hand in front of his face. It was hardly the place one would find faeries and unicorns.
He had no idea how long he had been walking. Minutes? Hours? Days? Did time even exist in a place like this? Or was he doomed to wander forever, trapped in an unending maze?
A low branch snags the White Elf's feet, sending him sprawling head-first into the mud. Dirt and bits of bark go flying everywhere. Twigs bite into the exposed flesh of the elf's arm.
Scowling, Lyrus picks himself up and brushes himself down. As he starts to pick the splinters out of his arm, a voice calls
"Is that you I hear?"
Lyrus looks left and right, but there is nothing but darkness at his flanks. It was probably just his imagination. He takes a few tentative steps forwards, ready to keep walking.
Then, shuffling. It sounds distant at first, but it's definetly headed this way. If Lyrus doesn't move fast, he could end up in a heap of trouble. But, for some strange reason, he can't. A stange mix of fear and curiosity keeps him rooted to the ground. Part of him wants to see what the thing that spoke looks like, another part wants him to sprint as far away from it as possible.
Curiosity wins. The shuffling is really close now, barely 20 paces away. Pesumably, the creature can't see through the dark either, or else it would have...
"Is that you, my love? You came for me!"
As it happens, the being was much closer than originally thought. In fact, it's barely 5 paces away, to Lyrus' left.
It's a girl, but she isn't your typical girl. For a start, she's splattered with blood. Her hair is long and matted and her nails are long and sharp. She's conpletely naked, bar a collar around her throat, decorated with vicious-looking spikes. But easily, her most striking feature was her eyes. They were pitch black and unblinking. Blood trckled from them like tears, dribbling into her smiling mouth.
"I missed you so much. Why did you leave me?" she gurgled sadly.
That was it for Lyrus. He wanted to break away fron this nutcase, to run away and leave this damn forest behind. But he couldn't. Something wouldn't let him, not until he knew what the girl was going to do.
"I knew you'd come back. I knew you wouldn't leave me"

Note: WIP. I'll tidy it later

GreyAnvil, Ashbridge
There was an unusual hustle and bustle around the bridge today. Slaves and workers alike helped haul out large sheets of iron. Each one requiring several strong men to transport. The sheets stacked quickly and became a grid like maze. More than the usual amount of thick black smoke poured out of the chimneys that poked out from the mountain side. Inside every smithy was filled with people all working diligently. Their sound drowning out all other noises. Occasionally a woosh of air blew past from the massive bellows as they stoaked the many fires.
With all the commotion the temperature was unbearably hot in the hall. Modesty was thrown aside as the workers of GreyAnvil worked in almost nude conditions. They worked in long shifts around the clock producing swords, spears, arrow heads, but mostly the massive iron sheets. A burly man wiped the sweat that soaked his brow as he waved over a few of the slaves that had been resting. They grabbed the warm metal hefting it off of the table and began to shuffle their way out joining in the long line of people carrying out the plates.

GrimWrath, LowLands.
The Steady clopping was muffled by his intense concentration. He tried to keep his mind cleared but the little things kept standing out such As the smooth wood of the bow, the cut of the string. Then He released, the arrow flew with incredible speed covering the distance to the elivated straw target in the flash of an eye. He used his legs to guide the elk in a large circle, as he reached back and knocked another arrow. He was surrounded by at least twenty more riders as they all practiced their mounted archery. After years of practice they had all excellent aim. The war chief had them doing strange drills quickly changing course moving in large circles, but when firing they'd get closer and as soon as they needed to reload the spread out. It was an interesting site, confusing from the outside as they had three rings of riders, moving erratically weaving and firing.
They practiced on a mock fort, straw soldiers armed with old armor and weapons guarded its top. The archers though, roughly 100 meters away at anygiven time, usually scored hits though not always kill.

TheDescended, Lowlands
There was a corp of 50 men standing in a group, they were all casually talking. They had been transported to the lowlands for some reason though little was known a out this mission. Most of them looked muscle bound from years of laboring. The men around them were consta fly training be it sword, spear or other it was always moving. "What do you think they've got us doin? Whyre we down I'm this shit hole" his voice was nasaly and high, an odd characteristic for some one from these lands. But these rarities did happen. By now none of them tool notice to the GreyAnvils constructing the frames for carts though they stopped short of completion. There seemed to be hundreds of them all gathered down here members from all the clans save the descended they were the only representatives.

Lowlands, base of the mountains
They laughed and joked as they worked, carving the strips of meat thinly so that it smoked evenly. They often cured the meat this way so that it could be eaten many days later. This season alone they had made more than enough for the next three winters. But only a little went up to the mighty Ashbridge halls to be numbered and distributed. Most of it was being kept at an undisclosed location. The military would show up escorting slaves and take it away. Though in recent times they had began to help move massive amounts of iron plates from the mountain they began amassing at the bottom of the trail though stories say that the top is so covered that one has to navigate it with a ball of string. During their off time they watched men scurry about making odd contraptions. They stood taller than two men and had side skirts so that only a mans head was visible. While the very top could lay down allowing for a man to peep out. The sounds of hammers echoed day in and day out as these devices bare wood began to be covered with the metal sheets. Making slightly misshaped armor for these portable wall like devices. It was confusing to most if not all as to what the purpose of these walls were. Another parculular thing was that they now we're saving all of the animal lardIn massive barrels.

Southern Coast of Naqah, Niraph

Far in the horizon, as the stars and moon were up, a row of black ships appeared, sparing dots of light decorating them, complementing the stars behind. As they came closer, their immaculate formation becomes more apparent, and so were the battered, smaller ships they were towing. In the previous day, the ominous fleet had managed to chased down another, defeating them with ease and seizing their surviving crew and ships.

As the black ships came into proper view, so did the garish details - each ship had the head of some huge, frightening beast mounted on the front, some had grotesque versions of Daemonrexa instead. The name of each ship were written in huge letters unknown to the Naqah. Longer and smaller strings of letters were found along the sides of the galleys, good luck charms and spells to ward off disaster. Crowning the fleet was an enormous ship, as big as they come, its ram the size of a small house, the ornate head mounted on its front staring down at any that would make eye contact with it.

Slowly but surely, the black ships came even closer, and soon people could be seen on it, not Naqah, but even more Daemonrexa. The Warmaster could be seen at the head of the command ship, his eyes literally glowing red with anger as he and his soldiers sighted the burnt out remains of the galley they had lost.

Upon making landfall, the 8 ships began disgorging marines, who sprinted from the low waters onto the beach, quickly forming up to prepare for the worst - be it a full frontal attack by an invisible enemy or an ambush. All in all, 450 marines disembarked, leaving another 450 on the decks of the ships, some to guard them from boarding attempts and others to support the formations of marines on the beach with bow and ballista fire. Torches were lit, and the formations could be seen bristling with horns of all patterns and shapes, armour glinting in the near darkness only dispelled by the town they had landed near. With a single order, the marines had organised to form a semi-circular formation. With multiple classes of Daemonrexa present in the their military, their formation would be well-rehearsed with predetermined patterns arranging the different classes of Daemonrexa. In this case, the Maniples were arranged with all their Nephilim in the front, interlocking with some Maniples that placed smaller Daemonrexa together with them.

Some night-walking Naqah were seen running away in fright, screaming of demons from hell and the end of the world coming, but the soldiers cared little for them, and the Zealots and Overseers took note, thinking that the worse that could happen was a disorganised rabble of humans coming out to meet them in a one-sided battle.

In the middle of the columns, a meeting between the Warmaster and his Overseers were held. Amongst them was one half-crazed, terrified female human, completely naked and covered in filth, cuts and bruises. An Incubus jailer had her on a chain, which was leashed onto an iron collar on her neck. Her wrists were similarly put in irons around her back. "Are those your people, animal!?" A Mediocris questioned the pirate prisoner in her own language harshly, referring to the pirate corpses that were put on display on the beach. When she did not answer, perhaps out of sheer sadness over her own condition or sympathy for her dead comrades, he kicked her in the stomach, and forced her to kneel. The Mediocris, one of the overseer, drew his broadsword and jabbed it threateningly at her bosom.

"Yes, yes!" The pirate replied immediately and desperately, "No more, please! Don't touch me again, please, I beg of you-!" The Mediocris, insulted by what he perceived to be an arrogant demand, punched her in the jaw before she could finish. The prisoner fell but was held up by her iron collar. Forced by the iron collar choking her, she go back up to kneel again. Blood trickled down her chin. Resigned to her fate, she looked down on the ground once again, seeing only an eternity of threats, tortures, forced labour and forced unions in the sand, if her first day with her captors were any indication that the stories of how the Daemonrexa punish criminals were true.

"The village here could be enemies with these human criminals." Another Mediocris Overseer kicked off the conversation between leaders. "We know little of this place, except that it is not human country."

"It means little." The Warmaster's voice boomed, and all heads turned to regard their general, "I have been at war with these foul creatures for more than a century now." The massive Nephilim, for a moment, turned to stare spears at the wretched woman on the sandy floor, "And I know for sure that they are as cunning and evil as they come. They will hide anywhere like maggots in an old steak. They multiply like flies and rats. They could turn a pristine paradise into a criminal haven overnight."

"Our Warmaster speaks wisdom once again." A Familiar Overseer spoke out when the Warmaster was done, "I have several hypothesis regarding these corpses on sticks. Belial could be right, but he could also be wrong. These pirate things will turn on their own very quickly. The corpses displayed could be a trick, done at the cost of a few of their own soldiers. Or... or the village here could be subjugated by them, and it would thus fall on us to liberate it." The rest of the Overseers were silent, the Familiar having covered every possibility.

The next point of discussion fell on their next course of action. An Incubi Overseer suggested sending in a group to parley with whomever was in the village, but it was considered too risky. A Nephilim Overseer suggested sending spies, while another a century to skirmish with what forces lay beyond the veil of darkness. The Warmaster wanted to march in as a whole, with the only Familiar Overseer's idea to have some of the best infiltrators surrounding the main column to warn of any ambushes set for them.

---

The Succubus survivor, Shenda, stirs uncomfortably in her hospital bed, naked except for the huge amount of bandages applied on her. Her uniform and armour were all taken off her. As the Naqah values modesty, a blanket had been drawn up to just above her breasts. While she disliked being forced to cover herself, she enjoyed the warmth that the blanket was providing all the same. Shenda was the only one amongst the three who was unable to sleep. Listening to the contented snores of her Nephilim Overseer and the Imp Zealot, she tried to sit up but the pain in her stomach forced her back down, spreading like lightning across her body. There was still pain all over her in the past few days - she could only be glad that it was gradually lessening. As for walking, Shenda had given that up a long time ago. If moving even slightly could cause so much pain, what more would walking or even standing around do? Even bending her knee at times would hurt. Although the pain was not as hellish, she didn't dare try again. She was essentially bedridden, and the experience had broken her self-confidence and esteem. Whenever no one was looking, especially her Overseer, she would cry quietly to let a small trickle of this pain out.

Just like what she was doing at present.

Niraph, Village Hall

The moon was high over Naqah when the Village Council convened. Many of Niraph's important figures were there - The Elder, the Guard Captain, the Chosen, the Healer and a few others. Normally, these meetings happened during the day, but the Healer couldn't turn up until the three Demonrexa were asleep.
The Elder cleared his throat before starting.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I think we all know why we are here - we need to discuss these Fomorii."
A general mutter went through the gathered group before the Elder signalled for silence. He went on
"Obviously, the continual safety of Niraph, and Naqah as a whole, is our most important issue, but I am loathe to harm these creatures before we learn their intention. This council is called to decide our next move"
The Chosen was the first to speak "I believe we should send a messenger to Drakar at once. Perhaps they could send a detachment of Imperials, maybe a few more of Luna's Chosen -"
"Why are you always crying to Drakar for help?" the Guard Captain interrupted "We have a baracks and guards, don't we? We don't need to involve that tyrant Luna and her fottiti (Plaything, slave) Lyrus."
The room went deadly quiet at the treasonous comment. The Chosen bristled, but after a momrnt or two, she replied calmly
"What are you implying, Captain?"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm saying it plainly - Tailin is a coward, Pinkara is a simpleton, Lyrus is nightmare-driven and Luna is a Wildling in disguise. The only sane member of Crowthorne House is Aelia."
"I'm going to give you ten seconds to apoligise for your comment" the Chosen said, fury making her shake but her voice staying calm "Or I'll have you hung for treason."
The captain merely chuckled "Of course, Lyrus has an excuse. He's a fair, just ruler. Anyone would have nightmares if they'd been through what he'd been through. If your precious Luna stopped using the poor stronzo (Sod, fool) to satisfy her -"
The blacksmith was the one who interrupted "One, there is no evidence that Lyrus has been abused by anyone in the House. Two, whether he has or not is not relevant to the issue at hand. May we please get back on topic?"
"Wise words" the Elder said "If anyone else wishes to bicker, they may leave this meeting to discuss their stupidity further. My good smith, have you analysed the weapons and armour taken from the ship?"
The smith frowned "The metal they use is strange. It is strong, and slow to blunt, but fragile. One hard strike and it cracks. A few hard strikes and it shatters completely, but it can cleave through just about anything without damage. It's almost like they want to kill their foes before they have a chance to fight back."
"I agree" the Healer muttered "The three I have seem to care little for clothing, whether it is cosmetic or defensive. The female, for example, seems to dislike having the blankets on the bed around her. They are also remarkably warm - I'm not sure if that affects the weapons and armour, but I'm sure it will have something to do with their lack of clothes."
"Interesting" the Elder mumbled "Have you uncovered anything else"
"Yes, of course. The small one and the female have remarkable agility - the sinews and muscle structure shows that. The big one seems to have a thick hide that almost negates the need for armour, but that may just be proportional to our own. Either way, it seems one would have a hard time hurting one without specialised equipment or being in a crowded area. They also seem to turn those nearby into one of them, but slowly. I performed an experiment-"
"Hold up. Are you saying that me and my men are going to turn into Fomorii?" the Captain was furious, but even he couldn't keep the scared tone out of his voice
"Not quite. The process takes time. As I was saying, I performed an experiment. After the first couple of nights, I noticed the bedside plants were exhibiting strange properties - giving off heat, for example. It was irregular and hardly noticable, but it was happening. So, I moved one of the plants away and the left the other where it was. The results were staggering. The plant beside the Fomorii is exhibiting more unusual properties more regularly, whilst the other seems to have reverted back to normal."
"What about you?" the Chosen said in a curious tone.
"I think that I, too, may be turning into a Fomorii. I have already noticed radical differences in my body temprature and pallour. If I cannot discharge these demons soon..."
There was no need to finish. Everyone in the room knew that the kindly old healer would not stop until his patients had recovered fully, regardless of the consequences. He would not leave them just so he wouldn't turn.
"In short, we need to contact them." the Elder mused "Find out what medicines work best and what will slow their healing. I won't stand idly by and watch my healer become a Fomorii."
"It wouldn't be so bad if I could say the effect wouldn't spread" the healer said quietly "But I can't garuntee it. If I turn, I may have to give up healing."
The Elder thought about it for a minute, then nodded "One more day. Chances are, the others have noticed the ship is missing. If they don't show up by this time tomorrow, or the Fomorii haven't recovered, you take a five-day break and we reconvene to decide our course of action. Dismissed"

Niraph Healer's
The Healer returned to his office slightly irked. One day! One day of waiting for more of the Demonrexa, and if they didn't show up, it was game over. He had so many questions! And the demons had started to recover! How was he meant to wait for five days to restart the healing process? Five days and they'd be dead.
May as well check up on them, he thought, as he entered the room. He was reassured by the gentle snoring - if they were asleep, they couldn't ask for more medicines.
There was something wrong with the female, though. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like she was crying.
"Is everything alright, Shenda?" he asked softly - he had long since learned his charges names.

Southern Coast of Naqah, Niraph

When the Naqah Healer had floated in, addressing her in his calming voice, Shenda turned her head to look at him. There was so much she wanted to say, yet too few words to use. Although she had tried diligently to learn even more words while she was being treated in the clinic, she found it impossible to learn alot in three days. Still, she tried her best to speak in between sobs and sniffles, "Pain... So much pain... Wish to be free... But cannot... So much pain, more than ever in 2,000 moons. Bound to bed... Hate it..." Her inability to communicate worsened the dreadful feeling of powerlessness, of solitude and isolation. For the first real time in her long life, she felt like an animal. As an intellectual from whose fingers flowed poems and epics read by many, it was unbearable.

Shenda tried to speak more, but coughed instead. Sticky, tar like phlegm flowed down the side of her mouth. Being in a foreign land for the first time in almost a century, it was far too easy for her to contract illnesses.

---

For ten minutes, the 5th Naval Legion waited for a response from pirates or Naqah enemies, but there was none, and a melee did not ensue. At this, the Warmaster ordered the half-legion forward, sending out a small vanguard group to scout ahead and singular individuals of scouts as satellites around the main formation as a guard against ambush. Very quickly, a familiar from the vanguard group galloped on his hooves quickly back to the Warmaster, reporting town walls ahead.

They continued marching, until the town walls came within sight. An order to change formation into a pre-emptive siege line was made, and as a disciplined whole, the Daemonrexa obeyed, forming a line with most of the Nephilim at the front, the lines of huge Daemonrexa alternated by the smaller ones. The imposing Nephilim readied their ballistas, while the smaller ones their bows. Swordsmen and spearmen formed up behind them, waiting.

In their new formation, they continued marching until they were just out of bow range before stopping. There, they stood waiting, waiting for a response from the town.

Southern Coast of Naqah, Niraph

At the mention of a single, solitary old man jumping off the town wall and walking up to them, visibily shaking, Warmaster Nemrod came up to meet him. The old Naqah was tiny in comparison to the Warmaster, who stood almost 14 feet into the air, being Nephilim, and a tall one no less. He stared down at the baby-sized elder, regarding him eye-to-eye as he spoke in his strange language, his words quivering with uncontrollable fear, still with hatred in his eyes for whomever had taken his soldiers, his eyes visibly shimmering with red. Resting his left hand on his sword handle, he took a gaze at the town walls.

'Pitiful' was the word he would use to describe it. A Nephilim could easily scale it as if it was a fence, except that they won't need to, for it seemed as if a single ram from a few Nephilim would bring the 'wall' down. Then there were the guards, who were all huddling together in a rough formation on the walls, more out of fear and the cold than discipline. Nemrod lifted his sword slightly out of its sheathe threateningly with his left hand, as if about to break the elder apart... Except that it was merely a habit. A veteran serving with him long enough would know that it meant Nemrod was merely thinking. After taking another look at the town's defenses, the giant Nephilim could not help but to chuckle. It became a hearty belly laughter. Some of the soldiers in the rank and file caught on, and could not help but to laugh either. To anyone unfamiliar with the Daemonrexa, Nemrod's laughter would seem deep and demented. Most importantly, the red glow in his eyes disappeared.

Then he began to consider the old man's words, and decided it had nothing to do with the military. "I fear that I cannot understand your words, old man." The Nephilim boomed, trying to be as gentle as possible, though with a foreigner who had never seen a Daemonrexa, much less of the Nephilim kind before, it may well be out of his ability. As his Overseers began to gather behind him, the Nephilim Warmaster gave a loud, bellowing order: "I need a translator! Find one amongst my men who could speak the region's tongue, and bring him to me! Go back to the ships if it is necessary!"

As Nemrod's Overseers went away to carry out their Master's bidding, The Warmaster decided that the town was of no threat - or at least it was of no immediate threat. Should there be an ambush within, well, the Warmaster would handle it then, but for the time being, the Warmaster decided to treat the situation as one of diplomacy, or if to fall into an ambush was their destiny, at least give the impression that they suspected nothing.

While Warmaster Nemrod was no diplomat, he knew the simplest aspects of the job well enough, having been present when the colonies were created. Putting a hoof behind another, the Warmaster bowed low to the shivering elder. Out of respect for the Warmaster, the entire half-legion bowed lower on a warrior's kneel: one knee to the ground and weapon to the floor, supporting, be it a spear, sword blade, bow or ballista. Only those with chains or smaller weapons need not carry out the last part.

When the Warmaster rose, so did the half-legion. Then there were shouts from the Overseer throughout the ranks, calling for translators of the local region. Daemonrexa were either shaking their heads or reporting a negative. A number of soldiers were ordered to go back to the ship to find a translator. Nemrod gave a great sigh. "I apologise for making you wait, exalted ambassador." He said to the old man.

Despite the quickness of the soldiers, it took ten minutes before the party sent back to the galleys came back. A very strange Daemonrexa was trotting up towards the old Naqah, one that was wearing clothing familiar to the Naqah, even if outdated. He was a Daemonrexiac who was once Naqah, and he was wearing an old-fashioned Chiton made of materials local to the Daemonrexa- Snow silk. Despite having changed dramatically from his acceptance of Saten's gift, he still resembled a Naqah, even if slightly, but it was enough for anyone to recognise it.

Nemrod took a single look at the Daemonrexiac, and could tell immediately that he was a paid oarsman, and one that had served a few years at that, for he was neither completely a stranger, nor too well known amongst the marines and crew of the galleys. The Naqah Daemonrexiac, upon setting his eyes upon the old elder Naqah, was stunned. He could not believe his ears at first that they had reached Naqah shores again, but the sight of one of his former kind confirmed it. His mouth hanged loose as he was at a loss for words.

"Oarsman, I require your knowledge of these people's tongue. Could you do as I order?" Warmaster Nemrod asked, his voice loud as usual.

"Y-yes. My words will be old and cobwebbed, but I will try, my Master." The Naqah Daemonrexiac said in Daemonrexa.

"Very well." The Warmaster then turned to the elder, "I am Warmaster Nemrod of the 5th Naval Legion, serving the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes under the eminence of Sovereign Drengard."

"The enormous demonic one says that his name be Nemrod, and Imperial General he is of the 5th Naval Legion, servants of the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes, ruled by High Lord Drengard." The Naqah Daemonrexiac translated roughly Nemrod's words into Naqah, visibly lacking a number of terms which he quickly filled in with the closest he knows. Furthermore, his Naqah was outdated by nearly three centuries. He was speaking in Old Naqah!

"I am in search of my missing marines and oarsmen, and the pirates who ambushed them." Nemrod continued, and paused as the Naqah Daemonrexiac translated, "I saw the filthy human pirate corpses mounted on sticks at the beach, and the burnt ship that was my galley. It lead me to believe that you are holding the people I am responsible for."

"I need an answer immediately. Deliver them to us unharmed, and we will not turn the town over looking for them. Cooperate, and the rewards of your obedience to our humble demands may yet be great and without end, for my people are expanding their reach, and since we have never met your people, agreements could be reached and friendship fostered. Many benefits could be had. I myself will convince our dearest leaders to reach out to your kind." Nemrod said, pausing once in a while for the Naqah Daemonrexiac to translate.

"If you wish to ignore our woes and needs, we will still have to search the town, and I fear that we may have to demolish some buildings and kill some of your kind before we are done. A Daemonrexa's life is precious, and each of us is dear to many of us. I will do whatever it takes to save those I am responsible for. What will your answer be?" Nemrod said, his diplomatic caution slipping a few times due to the lack of formal training. When he and the translator is done, Nemrod and the entire half-legion waited for an answer.

---

Shenda found the Healer, or any Naqah for that matter, socially awkward and unpolished. The guard who saved her, for example, would not give himself over and be intimate with her even when she could tell very easily that he wanted very much to. And the stares she had thus far received, she had lost count. But it mattered little to her at the moment, as pain flared throughout the body as she drunk the bottle of foul smelling liquid as she believed the Healer instructed and endured the pain throughout her body as the Healer cleaned her.

Shenda felt a little faint and tired. After all, she had not slept the previous night, and she could feel a cold coming on. The medicine was awful, and her wounds would likely take weeks to fully heal, and that would be with the best doctors in Devaldis-Spes. "Thank you." She said in her own language, lacking the word for it in Naqah. With a weak, trembling hand, she stroked the Healer's arm, a shadow of what gratitude she could have shown if she was healthy.

The Healer had said more, but she could not exactly understand his words. With what little she understood, she thought he mentioned home. It seemed like he was comforting her. Shenda smiled a weak at the doctor as he was almost done.