GrimWrath, LowLands

It had been many days since they started training. Everyone had a firm grasp on the battle plan.
But now they were massed in a large group circling around the warchief. All of their eyes were on him waiting, watching.

"Shield Brothers, it is now time we take action against those northern bastards! They strip our friends, fathers, and kin from their chance to access the great hunting grounds. They force them to be prey to the elder wolves!" He shook his fist angrily. Speaking loudly, almost a yell. "But no more will we let them corrupt our brothers who have been forced into surrender. We will take. Back what was ours and we will raise their hideous creation to the ground!" As he spoke he made hand gestures, the crowd was growing excited at such talk. " We will go forth and avenge our brothers or we will die and be accepted into the pack! There can only be victory, triumph and vengeance!" The crowd of men began to chant, yell, whistle and stomp. It had truly become a mob.

The mob, drank, fought and all around destroyed the village they stayed in. The next dawn all 2000 soldiers with an additional 1000 support men Were formed up. The additional men were Made Up of lowlanders, greyanvil, and descended. All were fitted with armor and swordswere either mounted, loaded into wagons, or walking. They marchrd on the fort which their brethren had fallen. Behind the army massive pigs pushed iron walls. They were being led by the lowlanders. Each one blinded so it couldn't panic. There were an extra hundred scouts who patrolled surrounding areas. Staying far enough away to form a protective screen. A few moved ahead of the army, scouting and searching. The war chief moved with his army walking along with them, his wirrwarr loyally protecting him, they allowed him to move freely but were close enough they could stop an enemy.

---

LowLands
The people began to recover, and harvested what was left of crops and ready to slaughter animals. They picked up where their life had left off. There were no tears for those who left. Just the feeling of pride swelling in each of their hearts.

The going was tough for the village the army stayed in and because they had nothing left, neighboring villages showed up with wood and food and began to help rebuild for the poor people.

The caravans began to once again roll up the mountain side. Pushing to feed the entire country. It was a difficult job one that many had turned down save for those of the lowlands. Where they look at it as a time honored tradition.

Ashbridge

There were many people gathered around the stone house that had been carved tunnel side. There were thousands and thosands of these houses in the ever expanding tunnels. The people all waited for the midwife to come and deliver the news. They chatted, smoked, and hung around everyone ready to welcome the new baby to their people. They would all congradulate the new mom, and bring her food they they each prepared, along with gifts and other odds and ends.

Down the tunnel a boy poked at the fish that seam through the small aquafer. They were no larger than a hand but considered a delicacy. Children often only had to work four days out every 10 the other days were for playing, and learning of their great society.

(Wip)

Niraph

The Elder shook visibly, and not just from the cold. The demon in front of him was huge, at least twice the size of himself. He could crush him like a beetle if he wanted to.
The Fomorii went for its blade, and every Naqar who could see gasped, except the Elder. He merely waited. He had lived a good life - his town had prospered, he had witnessed the birth of the current, and one of the greatest, leader of Naqah. He had repulsed Wildling after Wildling. It would be a fitting and noble death to die at the hands of a warrior.
But, instead of cutting the comparitively minute elf down, the Demon's leader simply studied the walls.

Was he looking for something? Prying for weakness? Not likely. A creature of his size and strength could level or scale the wall with ease, regardless of its weak and strong points. Was he judging it? Maybe.
Then, laughter. A low chuckle at first, slowly rising to a hearty laugh. Some of the soldiers behind the big one started to laugh too.
The Elder was insulted. Were they laughing at his village? The same village that had sheltered him since birth, the village his great-great whatever grandfather had helped build, the village that had kept... most of its residents safe. He shuddered. Could it really have been sixteen years since the raid? It seemed like it was only a couple of months ago.

Anyway, the monsters seemed visiblly more relaxed and less angry. It could be a good sign, that they thought the town wasn't worth their time. Or, it could mean they thought they could take it with ease and didn't need to look so intimidating. Which, in fairness, they could.

The foriegner spoke his alien language. It was strange. Whilst some words sounded familiar - he definately heard what sounded like "old man" with an accent - but some parts were completely different. One word sounded like "apples" - what relevance would that have to anything?

Many of the guards started to look a little antsy. Some lowered their bows, others took the arrow out. One even lost his grip and fired an arrow into the dirt in front of the gates - far away enough to look like a misfire, surely.

And, of course, the beast's voice was petrifying. It was like a giant shaved bear that hates people mixed with rabid tiger with a thing for torture. There were gentle hints to the voice, but it was terrifying nonetheless.

As the creature - the Elder was now certain it was a General or Captain or some similiar rank - issued orders to its followers, the Elder felt he should do the same. He raised a flat, upwards palm in the air, holding it for a few seconds, then lowered all fingers but the ring - an impossible feat for many other races - which meant "stand down". At this, the guards relaxed. Some laughed. Others began crying with relief. Soon, they were herding the civillians back into their homes, or returning to the barracks, until only a few remained.

Oddly, the Captain and his unit then bowed. It was a strange sight - here, bows were reserved for only the most important people, and even High Lord Lyrus had gone on record to say he felt silly when people bowed to him.

The Elder began to return the favour, but stopped. Presumably, these were expierienced, well trained soldiers who had seen many battles. They deserved more than a copy of what they were doing.
Instead, the Elder put his right fist over his heart and made a a shallow bow. It was barely even a bow, more a slight dip of the upper back, but it was the highest complement one could give a warrior in Naqah culture.

Whatever the Captain wanted wasn't present, it seemed, so some of the soldiers left, presumably to fetch it. The big one said something that sounded like an apology, though for what the Elder was unsure.

No-one said anything for a while. The old elf thought about inviting them in, but that was asking for trouble. The few guards that were watching lost interest, leaving to go do their other duties. The Elder was on his own, bar the Chosen, who remained at the wall.

When the Demons came back, they brought a new one with them. Unlike he others, he was fully clothed in an old-style chiton, one of the ones with sleeves. He looked like... he couldn't have been...
He was! The doctor had been right! The creature was some mix of Naqar and Fomorii!
The look in his eyes confirmed it - it was the look of a man who was finally returning home. Whilst he looked similiar to one of the Fomorii, there were distinct differances between the two, most notably the paler skin and tapered ears. But it was impossible!
But it wasn't impossible, because it was standing right in front of him. Suddenly, the old elf was a lot more scared of these creatures.
The Elder was in so much shock, he missed the talk between the Captain and the Naqorii - he lacked the right word for it - but heard the translation. It was hardly modern syntax, but it would do.

"My greetings, Nemrod." he spluttered, holding back a smile that played on his lips when the Naqorii called Nemrod "the big demonic one". Three hundred years and the language was still interchangable. It was almost like mispronouncing modern Naqah, with a few grammatical errors. Of course, it helped that the education system was so simplistic - learn to understand words, use them. It meant no-one had the linguistic know-how to make major changes.

The Elder sighed, knowing that the boat would be top priority, but he could hardly tell them that there were only three left. Maybe they would understand. Or maybe they'd raze the town to the ground in fury.
They couldn't walk, he remembered the healer had said, so they would have to come inside. It wasn't optimum, but... no, there was nothing else to it. It was bad either way, but this was worse. He might smash a few pots, break some bottles or even kill the healer.
"General, I have some bad news. If you would care to come inside, there is something I need to show you..."
The Elder stopped and smacked his head. Of course, Nemrod wouldn't fit through the relitavely small doors, heck, he'd struggle to get through the gate.
"Perhaps" he said, after some consideration "You would be best sending in someone you trust. I don't think you'd fit through the doors."

---

Niraph, Healer's office
"Just try to relax." The doctor finished off, stood up and mumbled. "Call me if you need anything."
Suddenly, he left the bedside to sit at a desk opposite the beds. He started playing with some plants and chemicals, trying different formulas and ingredients. He worked in total silence.
It was a sudden and abrupt change in the man who was normally so friendly and reassuring. He usually stayed at the bedside until he thought the Demonrexa were asleep.

There was an detectable sense of secrecy in the air, like the healer knew something that would affect the Succubus wildly. It wasn't that she was dying - the old doctor had made comments on her remarkable recovery speed previously, and had told her and the others that the wounds were far from fatal. Regardless, the mood suddenly turned anti-social and dark. The normally spacious medic's officefelt cramped, the typically loose blankets began to feel tight and the temprature seemed to drop a few degrees.

Ivalis, Divine Academia

"And with this, you have graduated from the Academy, thus becoming full fledged citizens of the realm. What you've been taught in the last 4 years the basics to make you good people, great people. You've learned what differentiates us Crayvens from the rest of the rabble. Some of you have succeeded better than others, but such is the nature of life, fundamentally unequal. But keep in mind that these tests only measure some particular set of skills and that with the knowledge you've gained here, even if you do not go on to become Favored Ones, all of you can I am certain, achieve great things that will make even He, smile upon you. You will all be reconducted to your settlements and rejoin your families in the next few weeks. For those who have succeeded the Test, it will be the last time for many more years that you will see your family as your studies will continue and your stay will be that of one standard month for the harvests. Good luck to you all and may He smile upon you."

The Grand Academy of Ivalis was a building of marble entirely, fit for royalty by foreign standards. The Administrator General of the Academy remembered one of his predecessor have written a book about how the buildings that had received the most attention, resources and time to their construction where telling many things about the priorities of the people that built them. The largest buildings of the capital were by a large margin the Central Archive and Library on top, with the academy and the administrative complex next. The academy had been built large afterall, to cover for the growth of the Crayvens as generations passed. Even today, many classrooms had been unused. In front of the main building, in the walled courtyard of a fortress-like building that was the Academy (As were most important buildings of the Crayvens actually), 89,076 Crayvens stood straight, a line of about 400 of them were in front, a wreaths of laurel on their head distinguishing them, those that had passed the test, from the others. These 89 thousands had come from all around the realm to pass it.

As their teachers, gold laurels on their head, looked on them, the students raised their right hands, looked on the skies, pounded their chest with a fist and raised their arm in the air. A salute to him. Soon, these 400 would be part of the elite of the realm and gain the right to wear the divine gold.

It had been a good year, a bountiful year where none in the realm starved, a year without rebellion. The harvest, in the core lands at least, announced itself to be one of the best in a Crayven lifetime, which was also why there was much urge to finish with the ceremony and get all of those people in the fields, to make sure nothing went to waste. Praised may He be, for his gifts.

Somewhere, Suehanian border.

"Are you okay Silvest?"

The old Crayven turned around on his horse to look at his apprentice, constantly scratching his legs and crotch.

"Yeah? Oh by His name, I'll never get used to this. What manner of barbarian invented these things, pants? Why would anyone wear those things?"

The teacher had a laugh.

"To keep you warm, that's why! Just don't think about it and you'll get used to it... eventually. And anyways, it's not good to be distracted during a mission, you need to concentrate on your surroundings, be aware of what's around you so you don't get caught off-guard. The Suenians may be barbarians, but they are still master ambushers. A Ranger that doesn't report back is almost as bad as a ranger who reports back but didn't see the enemy."

Silvest sighed and let his shoulders down in resignation as they approached a small stream, they guided their horses to cross it without falling down.

"But isn't this place safe? I don't remember any report of Suenian raiders here ever."

The teacher decided to let go of his horse and just lay back on his saddle as it did the job. The old thing was older than he even was, it didn't need a guiding hand to cross a river that was for certain.

"So? Borders still need patrolling to make sure it's still the case or that there are no renegades that would think that since you have no reason to patrol here no one would patrol here. It makes good training for newbies that are too green to patrol a place with actual danger. What, we should have been deployed more north so we could get both killed on the first day by a change encounter? Or maybe you'd want to go south and get a crossbow bolt between your eyes?"

Silvest smiled slyly.

"Oh common, nothing trains someone more than to spend some time in the..."

The man slapped his own forehead with a hand before turning slowly to his student.

"Silvest, I swear to him, you're taking a dip in the water if you finish this sentence."

There was some hesitation as the student looked at his teacher with a smile. As the silence continued, the teacher couldn't help but to have the corner of a smile.

"...Danger Zone!"

Quick as lightning a oatmeal cookie, hard as rock, landed on Silvest's head.

Southern Coast of Naqah, Niraph

"I will find a way." Warmaster Nemrod replied, and the Naqah Daemonrexiac translated thus. The Naqah Daemonrexiac had also become his personal advisor in the speech of the Naqah as well, and he found the Naqah elder's intentions suspicious, asking for just a mere representative to enter the town. "And my half-legion will accompany me. I am sure that the wounded would not carry themselves, and a Daemonrexa Galley holds at least 200 marines and oarsmen, exalted elder." When the elder mentioned bad news, Warmaster Nemrod's scale of what a disaster was was small. After all, there had not been any major casualties thus far in more than a century, with deaths by the hundreds and thousands confined to history - in recent years, the Daemonrexa had been very successful in their campaign to destroy the pirate threat.

With that, Warmaster Nemrod gave an order for the half-legion to get into a thin marching formation, then another order to march them through the gates of Niraph. When it came time for the Nephilims in the legion to get in, Nemrod simply ordered them to scale the walls and did so himself at the head of the formation, half-expecting an ambush inside. The wall was easy for a Nephilim to scale, as they stood only a little taller than them. What was a tall enough wall to normal beings was a mere fence to the Nephilim.

After marching the half-legion to the town square where they stood at attention in a circle formation, ready for anything, the Warmaster and his Overseers, with 5 Maniples acting as bodyguards, followed the elder to the barracks where the survivors were said to have been kept. Being too large, the Warmaster and other Nephilim was forced to stay outside, and had to make their way to the windows opening from the clinic's room. Before seeing anything, the Warmaster thought the clinic to be too small to hold so a galley's crew - it was his first hint that the bad news was much worse than he thought, and when he gazed into the room where the survivors were kept, it was far, far worse than he thought.

Warmaster Nemrod even poked his head through the window when the smaller Daemonrexa inside opened them to take a second look. The Healer and Elder was there. The Warmaster turned his massive head to look at them in disbelief. His otherwise relatively friendly look turned into an enraged frown, with teeth showing. "Where is the rest of my galley crew?" What would have been otherwise an angry bellow was lowered to normal out of respect for the wounded, but the Warmaster's voice never ceased to be one of seething anger, his voice unstable, wavering between restraint and fury.

The wounded overseer, having been awakened and glad to see other Daemonrexa, but absolutely dreading the presence of the Warmaster after essentially losing his entire crew, got up slowly from his four linked beds, trying his best not to aggravate his wounds, and explained, "My Master, we were attacked by pirates five fold our number. The Healer told us that we were all that was left-"

"The Healer told you-!" Warmaster gave into his fury for a moment, before trying his best to calm down again - he could not simply believe that the Healer was telling the truth, or that he wasn't mistaken. It seemed otherworldly to him, what was going on. Never had such a loss been incurred by a unit in his entire career. Many thoughts were going through his mind- he wanted badly to enact sweet vengeance upon those responsible for the loss of his charges, and he imagined the humiliation he would face back home. 'I would have to find a way to make things right' The Warmaster thought as he grudgingly accepted the circumstances forced upon him. Turning to regard the healer with a mix of emotions, he continued with the translator in tow, "Very well." Nemrod breathed heavily and quickly, the dreadful noise of rage perpetuating throughout the room. He was almost as if in battle fury. Even his own soldiers were becoming afraid of their general. "Where are the bodies? They must be preserved quickly! Their friends and family must have them for the proper rituals to be conducted so that they may part ways with a final farewell." On one hand, the Nephilim smells foul play, and on the other, he simply smelt the ineptitude of foreign tribesmen.

Even the translator was visibly shaking and stuttering as he tried his best to do his job.

The Elder was dreading the wrath of the Warmaster as he led them through the village. He thought of a million different things to say, none of which felt right. If he said anything, it might be seen as an excuse. The worst part was that when the Warmaster did learn of what happened, he could do anything he wanted to the village with impunity.
At town square, most of the unit broke off and secured defensive positions. Even though they could wreck the village, even though they outnumbered the clearly terrified guards, they were still paranoid. Only the gods knew what they would do if they came across Wildlings, or went to Drakar.
At the Barracks, the Warmaster was clearly starting to understand the scale of the disaster. When the windows were opened and the Warmaster saw the remenants of his crew, the anger on his face said it all.
"The only survivors were brought here. Everyone else was dead. I was told it was a... disturbing sight." the Elder said meekly.
The Healer merely turned around when the demons entered his room. He didn't rise, or ask questions, or scream. He simply waited for the demons to take their crew and leave.
The big demon in the bed woke up. Though the words weren't translated, they could tell the newcomer had some superiority over the wounded one.
The General lost its temper, yelling something that sounded like "mining" then calmed down. It thought for a moment, then spoke. Its words terrifyed both the Elder and the Healer when they heard the translation.
"The bodies?" the Elder cried, physically trembling. "They were... um..."
"Naqah tradition has it that the bodies of the dead were burned" the Healer said, in the artful tones of a doctor delivering bad news "It was to help the soul escape the corpse to go to paradise. I apologise for your losses, but it was hardly our fault. Your men and women were given their last rites on our soil and recieved the same honorable funeral we would have given our men. We even closed their eyes and said a few words," the doctor paused, placing his ring and index fingers over his eyelids and resting his middle finger on his forehead, a sign that meant 'rest in peace' "Requirum ine Pace. Your men fought honestly and bravely, and I am certain they are with their god in Paradise. And I'm sure you saw the pirates on the beach. We don't condone piracy here - what they done was murder. So we did to them what we do to murderers - we made them into examples."

The Eastern Ocean
100 miles west of Naqah

The battered wreckage of a pirate ship floated on the water, as the Fourth Expeditionary Strike Group looked on. The relatively small strike group was one of nine that the Ralgon Empire had deployed in this region, and they were almost all meant for only one thing: pirate hunting.

"Sir!" The Commander rushed up to the Captain, who was in command of the strike group. "We've taken seven prisoners. One is the commander of the pirates. We've also captured their ship, and moved all of their bounty aboard as ordered."

"Good. We'll have a good report for Admiral Nefunae when we report back. The Emperor will also be pleased with our work out here, should word reach his ears." Captain Dakkar pulled a small booklet out of his pocket, and annotated the day's events into his personal log. "What is the policy of our prisoners?"

"They're guilty of piracy. We either put them to death, enslave them, or they buy us out, as per the old Emperor's orders." Commander Decker glared at the pirates that were gathered on the deck of the Revenge, the leading ship in the squadron of five that were out here in these remote waters. "Unless I'm mistaken, the new Emperor hasn't changed them."

"Actually, he has." Captain Dakkar kept his gaze riveted on the pirates. "We get all of their bounty, and give them the option of life in return. Their term of slavery depends on how much we take. If they choose death, their share of the treasure pays for the others, because we Ralgons are not thieves. How much treasure do they have?"

"We've already determined that they had just under 5,000 Drachmas' worth of treasure on them. By the looks of it, they had raided a treasure ship recently, and were on their way to their nearest base to stash it away." The Commander looked at his men, some of who gathered around the bound pirates. "I forget what the typical punishment for piracy is, though... or how much they have to pay to get out of it."

"The typical sentence is seven years. Fifteen for their captain, because a leader is doubly responsible, as his men act under his orders." Captain Dakker looked over the pirates. "The fee to buy yourself off is a hundred Drachmas a year. Right now there are seven pirates, and a little under five thousand Drachmas in their name. So, that means three years of slavery for each one... and eight for the captain."

He looked directly at the pirate captain. "Either that, or you choose death and help free what remains of your comrades with seven years' of money. Your choice."

---

They departed, with five of the remaining pirates being sentenced to two years of slavery within Ralgon territory -- and the captain being sentenced to seven. Of course, they would be able to choose their general areas of work. Consequently, they were now able to pay their debts to society in a manner that appealed to them the most -- or the way they hated least, depending on their perspectives.

The Squadron finished its patrol mission, and immediately departed for Imperial borders to assign these slaves to new masters both able and willing to purchase them from the government, and thus make more money flow back into Imperial coffers.

Southern Coast of Naqah, Niraph

When the Naqah Daemonrexiac translated what the Healer was mumbling about, Warmaster Nemrod simply froze, his large eyes staring pure death at them, red glow returning to them again. No one, not even the Daemonrexa soldiers moved a muscle, or even said anything. While such tragedy had happened before under his command, with human villagers and tribesmen burning the bodies of any Daemonrexa soldiers they encountered for fear of curses or disease or simply out of their own twisted form of respect and tradition, such incidents were few and isolated, happening to far too few soldiers to cause any form of uproar. "You superstitious, moronic tribesmen! You-!" The Warmaster boomed. Shenda and the Imp survivor had both been in deep sleep, missing out on most of the troubles in their own ward, but now even they had awoken to the sudden explosion in the room. As soon as the Warmaster had exploded however, grief, sadness and a vague form of fear took over, "Fools..."

None of the Warmaster's outburst was translated however, as the Naqah Daemonrexiac, having been put into a very tough situation, far more than what his simple rowing job entailed, decided that no one would be offended if nothing of it was translated. After another moment of silence, the Warmaster simply removed his head from the room. In the meantime, a group of Daemonrexa had pushed through the crowd of marines, into the clinic. "This is an outrage!" A Familiar cried upon seeing the condition the three survivors were in. While the Naqah had no doubt done their best, almost everything was different from Daemonrexa medical standards, and thus unacceptable. The bandages were tied wrongly, the medicine that the survivors reeked of smelt all wrong. Even the very air was filled with the wrong stench, and without incense and other aroma deemed necessary for recovery. All three Daemonrexa were beginning to leak hideous black snot and phlegm again, indicating infections. "Take them back to the ships immediately!"

The Familiar, who was the Naqah Healer's counterpart, stared daggers at him, to complement the Warmaster's hateful look before snarling at him like an animal. Spitefully flung words could be heard as the Familiar Healer was leaving, following the soldiers carrying the wounded away, "These savages and their primitive 'medicine'!" Luckily, or unluckily for the Naqah, the Naqah Daemonrexiac refused to translate these words as well.

An inexperienced and fresh looking female Mediocris who was dressed as a nurse, however, stayed for a moment, feeling sorry for the Naqah locals who she was sure had been through alot because of their unplanned arrival, "I'm sure they are grateful, foreign dignitary. They lived because of you. Life is just extremely precious to us all, and it pains us if even one is lost." Having finally found something worthy to be translated, the Naqah Daemonrexiac did so very willingly. With that, the nurse left to catch up with the healer and the wounded.

"Overseer Biara, I leave these barbarians in your capable hands. Do whatever that needs to be done." The Warmaster said before leaving the windows of the clinic entirely, making his way back to his command ship. "I will suffer them no longer." The translator simply said 'Warmaster Nemrod is retiring to his ship. Overseer Biara is now in charge." He waves a hand over to a dark-skinned Succubus who was quite tall and Amazonian with fiercely toned muscles bulging, no doubt a Succubus that had spent more time in the military than she did on stage, behind a writer's desk or in a harlot's palace. Her arms and hands were covered in silver-gilded armour to preserve their use in combat, and her helmet seemed invulnerable and well decorated. Her greaves were similarly ornate and well designed to preserve the lower half of her legs. Her hooves were in silver gilded steel shoes that lengthened them, the shoes ending in blunt spikes for balancing, jewel and as make-shift weapons. However, like Shenda, she was otherwise entirely naked from neck to thigh. A pair of broadswords hung on her back on leather straps coming from the armour on her arms.

"Everyone leave! I need to speak to the elder. Alone." Biara ordered, and very quickly, the 5 maniples of Daemonrexa soldiers and her fellow Overseers obeyed her command and went outside. When the Naqah Daemonrexiac turned to follow everyone else, she pulled him back and ordered him to stay and close the door behind her. Being the most senior and loved of the Overseers, she was deeply respected, second only to Warmaster Nemrod. When she was finally alone with the Naqah she had to deal with, she simply looked at them with eyes teeming with a strange and impossible mix of lust, respect, hatred and judgement, but unlike Warmaster Nemrod, she preferred to be calm, sometimes eerily so.

After finally having her fill of looking at the Naqah up and down, Biara smiled and pulled out her twin swords, swinging them around such that she held them underhanded... Before handing them over to the translator. "I apologise for the... rudeness of my fellow warriors. Poor old Nemrod- no shoulder could ever be strong enough to carry the weight of a thousand immortal lives. In fact, a number of his friends and intimate ones were amongst the dead. Not to mention, he is one very, very *passionate* leader, I must say." The Succubus said, her voice melodious and intentionally seductive, her words chosen by not just her desire to do her duty and pay the right complements, but to toy with the elder both for her own amusement and practical purposes. Before continuing any further, she introduced herself, "I am Biara, Overseer of the 1st Century of the 5th Naval Legion of the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes. But enough with the formalities." She giggled suggestively, "There is much we need to... talk about."

Sitting down on a hospital bed, she motioned for the elder to sit beside her before continuing with the discussion, "I'm sure you must be very tired, and we might... spend a great deal of time together." her tail swishing about in anticipation.

A silent curse reached the gods ears. The Guard Captain was trying to be respectful when he burned the bodies, something that clearly Nemrod didn't understand. The Elder may not have understood the larger creature's words, but he could tell they weren't complimentary. The old man bit back a vicious response as the beast went on.

Then it was the Healer's turn to get offended. One of the little ones pushed past the others, yelling in his alien words. Upon yelling what sounded like an order, he turned to glare at the Healer.
If looks could kill, the Healer thought,there would be a deathmatch in here.
After a short time, the short one snarled like some kind of rabid animal. The doctor happily returned the favour in a more complex, albiet no more civillised, manner. "Rendetero (Go f*** yourself)"

Finally, one of the female demons approached the duo. According to the translator, she was thanking them and apoligising for her comrades.
"My thanks, Fomorii. It's not exactly been easy" the doctor said graciously.
The Elder did not comment, but he smiled nonetheless

According to the translator, Nemrod was going back to his ship. He had left an impressive-looking female behind, it seemed.
"She looks like a Wildling on Might-of-Nine..." the Healer gasped, before realising he said it aloud. "Don't tell her I said that!" he added quickly

A few orders were given and the remainder of the Demonrexa left the room. Even the translator was about to leave until the Overseer - Biara, had he called her? - dragged him back. The Healer didn't take the hint, and stayed with the Elder - if there were two on the Demon's side, there would be two on Naqah's side.
There was a strange look in Biara's eyes, the simutaneous mix of lust and hate. It was a look the Elder had never seen before - and the medic only once before, in a Wildlings eyes. It managed to petrify and intrigue both men.

The Demonette drew her blades, and instinctively the two elves went for their weapons, the Elder drawing a sharpened dagger and the Healer drawing a small syringe filled with venom - he never went anywhere without one. She was trying to kill them!
And proptly sheathed their weapons when Biara gave her weapons to the translator. Hopefully, she didn't notice or care.
Was it just the Elder or was the Demonette trying to seduce him? She certainly seemed to be. Her voice had a sultry edge to it, and the way she said "passionate"... The old man's cheeks flared from within.
The Healer, on the other hand, ignored the tone of her voice. He had been with Shenda for long enough to get used to the strange way the beasts spoke.
"I am E-Elder Firescythe of Nir-Niraph" The Elder stumbled over his words, his blush deepening.
"And I am Healer Redissimos, of House Firescythe. A pleasure to make your aquaintance, Overseer."

The temprature seemed to shoot up a few degrees for the confused Elder, who's face soon resembled a tomato. He was now certain the creature was hitting on him.
But he couldn't. He wouldn't. At 63 years of age, the Elder was about halfway through his life. He had been married once before, with two children. He remembered the joy he felt when the Healer handed him his first daughter, the pride when she started walking, the happiness he and his wife shared when she was with child once more. He also remembered the pain he felt when his wife choked on Vryhel gasses and his daughters were kidnapped by Wildlings. The eldest would be twenty-five by now, the youngest just twenty.
He had vowed he would never lay with another woman when he got married and the marriage never officially ended. There was no "until death do you part" in Naqah - a marriage ended when the two decided to end it.
Memories of his wife steeled his resolve. The Elder's face gradually went back to its normal, pale colour.
"If it's all the same to you, Overseer" he said boldly, no longer tripping over his tongue. "I prefer to stand. And I cannot say I feel particularly tired. If you are here to speak, then speak."

The Capital City, Devaldis-Spes, City Council Chamber, 20,014 YS

---

Sovereign Drengard stood on a massive balcony overlooking the outside half of the city, admiring the view- the numerous apartments that implied a huge population, the tall walls that implied excellent protection and the wide farms in the far distance that implied an abundance of food. His gargantuan cloak shielded his massive form from both the cold and any prying eyes, but as he returned into the warmer subterranean other half of the city, he threw it behind him, revealing a body covered in ornate ceremonial armour- with the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes at odds with the humans of the icy northern seas for close to three centuries, his society had come to become somewhat militarised. He himself had been a Warmaster once, fighting against the twisted human invaders.

Entering a huge chamber with an assembly of councilors, Drengard took his seat in the middle, facing them. "What matters require my attention?"

"Me." A grizzled looking Mediocris came through the main entrance, in full war gear and heavily armed. Unafraid as he could take on a maniple on his own without weapons, Drengard stood up from his throne-like seat. "What is the meaning of this? Who are you?"

"I am Bordrelactus. My greeting and respect to you, Sovereign." The moment the apparent intruder mentioned his name, Drengard knew very well who he was listening to. Bordrelactus was the leader of a sect of... different worshippers of Saten-Dae, an extreme one at that. As part of their ancestral worship of the mythological leader, followers of Bordrelactus would reenact the journey that Saten-Dae took. While it was impossible that they took the actual route, he and his followers would go from one end of the south pole to the other, travelling extreme distances, attempting to go through what Saten-Dae had once been through. They were a highly martial society, as Saten-Dae was also a general and warrior at many points of his life, and the ordeals he went through were military in nature.

"I see, and to what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you, leader of the Iudicio-Saten Sect?" Sovereign Drengard returned the greeting. Although they had their differences, the sovereign did not view him as enemies- in fact, few Daemonrexas would make enemies of each other. With plenty that existed outside their borders, it ensured that the few quarrelsome ones who would may not have the time and energy to do so.

"There are rumours that the coasts of our new colonies are the same coasts that Saten once stayed on to prepare for the crossing of his death." Bordrelactus said. There was a yawn coming from where the councilors were arranged.

"They are but rumours, old friend." Sovereign Drengard returned, trying his best to be patient- there were other more important things to worry about. For one thing, the pirates in the west had been quite active as of late, "One could point to any beach with a few ancient twigs and call it Deduco-Spes." The councilors laughed.

"And what if there were more than just a mere few ancient twigs?" Bordelactus countered, and his words attracted murmurs. Sovereign Drengard could not help but to become more interested, his eyes attempting to read the sect leader's, as if the answers were all there "My followers had been digging into the ground near Novaldis-Spes, great sovereign, and we found a city. We found inscriptions written in classical Rex-Na alphabets."

"It is a sign! A sign that we must undertake a journey back, a journey back home! Back to the Garden of Before!" The sect leader suddenly shouted, as if unable to contain himself no longer. Sovereign Drengard was stroking one of his eight horns, and thought that it may not be a bad idea, what Bordelactus proposed. Of course, he would first have to verify the madman's claim first, then... It would be then that he would consider the journey, and even undertake it himself, personally. For what greater feat would there be except to retrace the steps of Saten-Dae himself?