In the gloom of the cavernous dungeon, Shaige's imps made preparations. They honed their carving knives and felling axes, and called the wandering pain elementals. Soran chanted to the vial atop the altar in the middle of the room, working some sort of dark ritual with his master's heart. After some time, the blood within the vile began to boil and congeal. Foul vapors of green, black, and purple seeped through the cork. They filled the chamber with a noxious smell and the foreboding feelings that always came alongside black magic.

At last, Soran uncorked the vial. He walked to the center of the chamber, muttered a final dark word, and upturned the flask. The enchanted gems that had floated in the blood remained suspended in the empty bottle; without such foci the heart's magic would be depleted, and with it all of the black lord's powers. Slowly, like molasses, the thickened sludge that had once been blood poured down onto the floor. Where the fluid spilled, the stone writhed and trembled. At last the floor gave way to a great gaping pit that appeared, a strange light emanating from not far below.

Standing behind the construct there were nine other imps, backed by fifty pain elementals at most. They would be facing nearly half a thousand seasoned knights and fire wizards, men who fought with a crazed fervor for their deity Caldor. Shaige, however, was unconcerned. What were a few hundred flies before his power? His minions were ready, and they would have the element of surprise. The crusaders no doubt thought that this battle would be done in an hour, but they were wrong. It would be over the moment it began. Soran stepped through the portal, followed by the rest of Shaige's devotees.

Fangir stood in hiding, his muscles rigid with anticipation and his brow covered with sweat. He was as vigilant now as he had been four hours ago, when he and the other druids had walked out onto the trail leading up to the secret entrance. Though the remaining druids were all experienced, they guarded a treacherous uphill path, and they had concealed themselves with more illusion magic, it was hard to remain confident. The army of knights and sorcerers outnumbered the thirty or so druids by more than ten to one. When Fangir told them of the spirit that had visited in the night, many were incredulous. Most of the doubters thought that he was only desperate to improve morale, but there were a few who thought their chieftain had gone mad.

Hours passed by. Scouts returned from the forest to warn the defenders that the fire god's army approached. The land was silent as a grave; there was no wind to whisper into your ear, no birds or insects chirped, and no animals were in sight. Dusk fell, and the air quickly chilled until the druids were shivering. Fangir saw dark clouds roll in, silently killing what little light there had been in the night sky. The rocky hill was now cloaked by a mantle of darkness as oppressing as the dim caves below. Every druid standing watch thought they saw something. For some it was a dark silhouette moving in the forest below, whilst others caught glimpses of strange, fiery lights. Fangir at one point thought he heard an agonized wailing from within the woods, but he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks.

At last, the time came. Every druid knew it would; they had spent hours waiting for it, but they were still startled. A dozen torches, crowned by orange blazes, broke through the treeline. Close behind were robed priests and rank after rank of knights. They waved their proud banners of gold and carmine above their heads and advanced at a quick pace, seeing no enemies but wary of ambush nonetheless. It would seem that the shadow had been a dream, the workings of Fangir's tired mind. Still, the stubborn chieftain remained unbroken. He would never balk from this final battle. The crusaders would bleed for every step they advanced.

 A priest garbed in silk robes ten times as ornate as any of the others led the way atop a black horse. He resembled a great inferno feasting on the last remnants of life within a blackening log, or perhaps feasting on what would remain of the Mutig tribe. Fangir scowled at the thought. He jumped forward, breaking the spell that had hidden him, and barked out an order to attack. The mounted priest below answered, "Slay them in Caldor's name!"

The druids and the fire priests both began flailing their arms like drowning men as they conjured their lethal projectiles. The knights let out war cries, raised their shields, and surged forward. Then, there was a thunderous boom from the clouds above. Men fell down as the earth. From everywhere at once there was an incessant, inhuman cackling. Monstrous roars erupted from amidst the Crusaders' ranks. The torches, now fallen onto the ground, illuminated massive beasts of shadow and smoke. Great claws of swirling smoke grabbed at one fire priest and tore the screaming man in twain. A horrifying creature with a gaping maw of teeth pounced upon another priest and swallowed him whole. Then, a gale of frigid wind extinguished the torches. The druids no longer saw what was happening, but the shadow beasts' inhuman noises and the screams of the priests seemed only realer. 

The mounted priest managed to cast a protective ward around himself in time, but the turmoil around him was terrifying. The leader of the army now sought only to slay the druids up on the ledges, the wretched filth that had summoned these horrifying demonic creatures into the world. For a brief moment the mounted priest was visible as he conjured a fireball the size of a bear. Then, he hurled the thing at the druids. The fireball soared above its target, smashing into the cliff face above Fangir and melting stone. For the briefest of moments the fire cast a shadow beneath Fangir, but that was long enough. The chieftain watched as the mysterious shade that had appeared the night before now stood by his shoulder. [b]"I stood at your side from the moment dusk fell and I was able to manifest myself. You only had to look and open your eyes to the truth,"[/b] Shaige whispered, his soft but cutting voice audible even over the sounds of battle.

The mounted priest came into sight again as he prepared another fireball, his steed panicking from the flames and the shadow beasts that they revealed. The shadow standing before Fangir pointed at the sorcerer, and cursed him with the burden of time. The man's fiery red hair turned white and fell off, his skin grew pale and wrinkled, his flesh vanished, and his skeleton crumbled to dust within the span of a few moments. Shaige's manifestation began to dissipate. He left Fangir with the parting words, [b]"Do not doubt me again."[/b]

With the death of that final priest, the shadow beasts abruptly vanished. As soon as they did, the air seemed to brighten a hundred times. Though it was still dark, there was now enough light to vaguely see by. The druids began bombarding the knights using telekinesis, summoning roots and thorns to bind and kill their enemies, and generally wreaking havoc to their broken enemy. Though their priests and leaders had all been brutally slain and they themselves were now sustaining heavy losses, their resolve was so absolute that they continued to charge forward with crazed zeal. Then, the entire side of the cliff was lit by an eery glow. 

From below piles of leafs and inside squirrel holes there poured of dozens of orange balls of light. The pain elementals, out of their hiding spots, transformed into their wailing, humanoid forms and attacked the crusaders. Dozens succumbed to the pain wrought by the ghosts before the mass of knights even began to retaliate. Two or three pain elementals were surrounded and hacked at until they began to fade out of existence, but before that happened they exploded in great novas of anguish and fire, each one taking down half a dozen crusaders with them. The pain elementals' very presence in the area being enough to inflict pain, their ruthless attacks killing knights everywhere, combined with the druids' projectiles raining down from the cliff was enough to break the crusaders. All at once, the semi-organized charge degraded into a frenzied retreat. The routing men were killed by the dozens, pain elementals amidst them and magical bolts striking them in the backs. 

By the time the knights even made it back a few hundred yards into the relative safety of the trees, their army now numbered only a quarter of what it had minutes ago, and all their leadership was gone. Wailing spirits darted between the trees, preying upon the helpless knights. Most were now dropping their weapons and shields, already encumbered enough by their heavy armor. Out of the trees burst forth Soran. Three ragged knights, amongst the last of the survivors, charged at him. One pulled out a knife from his belt, no doubt planning to plunge it into the creature before him and then continue running. Soran waved his staff, and one of the men was suddenly drenched. Seeping through the pores of his skin was not sweat, but red droplets. Blood cascaded out of the knight's nose, eyes, and cuts, the spell causing him to rapidly bleed until he fell unconscious and eventually died. 

The one with the knife prepared to force it into the construct's body, but fell to the ground a foot short. The robed imp had swung a sword made out of pure, writhing shadows. It was so dark that the knight didn't even see the blade coming. The imp stooped down to snatch up the decapitated head and hold it up for the remaining man to see. The last knight came to a stop, dumbstruck. He looked around and saw that he was the last survivor, corpses strewn behind him. He didn't see the other imps until they knocked him to the ground and tore at his exposed throat with their demonic claws.

As the crusaders were chased off, Fangir and the druids had stayed still for a few moments. Then, they had ran off in pursuit, eager to hunt down the monsters that had burned their village and slain their kinsmen. They followed the trails of blood and other tracks left behind, but each one only led to a few corpses, all of which were horribly mutilated in some fashion. There were no signs of the wailing spirits or whatever else had caused the knights' demise. The people that had stayed inside the caves now came to the surface as well, to look at the carnage. There was a great cheering and everyone praised the nameless spirit that had saved their tribe. The starving mob gathered food from the surrounding area now that it was finally safe to do so, and held a feast in celebration.

The other druids joined in and raucously celebrated their victory, but Fangir only walked through the woods to look at the dead. The grimaces and looks of agony that decorated every dead face were enough to drain the archdruid of his appetite and cheer. He retreated back to his chambers in the caves below. His belly grumbled as it had done for weeks, but his mind could only wonder what he had done. His tribe now worshiped their savior spirit, and there was already talk amongst the druids of erecting a shrine. Fangir had to wonder what would happen to his tribe if they followed the being that had only hours ago doomed five hundred crusaders to painful deaths. Still, the chieftain felt tired, and now he finally had time to rest. He fell asleep telling himself that he did what he had to do, and that his people were safe for now.

Shaige came late into the night, only to find Fangir asleep. It was no matter. The shade leaned over the sleeping man, disturbing the air ever so slightly. The archdruid shifted in his sleep, but didn't awake to see the glowing, purple eyes that hovered inches above his face. There was no need to wake up the chieftain, if he was too tired to do so on his own. Shaige whispered into the man's ear as he slept, and then vanished. When Fangir woke up a day or two later, he could remember that in the background of his dream, he heard the shade's all too familiar voice. The spirit had warned that he would disappear for a time, but would return soon enough. He knew better than to believe that his mind had simply been able to imagine that hypnotizing whisper, and recreate it in a dream.

[b]Shaige's Stuff:[/b]

[u]Minions:[/u] Soran the imp construct, 9 imps, 50 pain elementals, Fangir the archdruid, 27 druids, ~300 Mutig Tribesmen
[u]Resources:[/u] Several hundred corpses out in the woods. A few bags of tools for the imps. Food is starting to run low, so the imps have resorted to trapping some small animals to help stretch their supplies. The Mutig cave has some weapons and supplies, and is starting to stockpile food now that the surface is safe.
[u]Infrastructure:[/u] A dungeon heart, the imps' makeshift altar, some small animal traps outside. The inside of Shaige's dungeon is being expanded, and the outside is now fortified with wooden abatises and concealed with magic. Shaige also claims ownership of the Mutig tribe and their cave-city, although his domain has not yet expanded to cover it.