Much progress was being made, even without Shaige's direction. The imps were abandoning the tiny cave that had been their dungeon up until now. The makeshift altar they built was destroyed, the chalk glyphs along the walls and floor were wiped off, and everything of value, including the vial that was the dungeon heart, was transported to the Mutig tribe's redoubt. Their underground city was more defensible, more isolated, and far larger. With empty and unexplored sections of the cavern, expansion would also be easy because there would be no need to excavate more space. 

Fangir reluctantly oversaw the erection of a shrine to his tribe's new patron spirit. The room that had been chosen was the deepest one, within the bowels of the earth. A stone altar was etched into the wall of the chamber. The space dripped with water in the two back corners, forming tiny waterfalls that rushed down some ways before flowing into an subterranean river. The altar, situated between the two largest waterfalls, was adorned with a figurine chiseled into the shape of a cloaked stranger. The idol's bleak, featureless face of stone was enameled with twin amethysts. How the sculptor managed to create such a disturbingly accurate depiction of the shadow was beyond the archdruid's understanding.

Fangir stood in the room with apprehension, watching it slowly take shape. A dozen of his tribesmen worked on it at any given time, smoothing the walls, creating pillars, conjuring magical lighting, installing great wooden doors, and such. Too late had Fangir realized that the moment he told his kin of their debt to the spirit that had offered its aid for nothing in return, he had surrendered all his authority to the shadowy apparition. The spirits that the Mutig tribe had revered before were no more than tales told to children; they didn't care about the fate of the tribe, if they even existed. This spirit, however, was both real and powerful. So the desperate people had instantly transformed into fanatical worshipers of this guardian that they knew nothing about, just as Shaige had known they would. Could Fangir even blame them? He had to admit to himself that they would all have been slaughtered if it were not for the Shadow, but that did little to comfort the archdruid. 

He had been chieftain, respected by his people and responsible for all their decisions. Now, he hardly felt like a person. Nobody, not even his fellow druids and closest friends, would speak to him about anything aside from the Shadow. Had their guardian spirit returned yet? What exactly did it look like? What did it want the tribe to do? The last question was always the hardest. Fangir did not know what to tell them, since there had been no sign of the spirit in days and it hadn't exactly left an agenda to complete, anyways. So, Fangir had simply given out orders that made sense: continue gathering food while there were no signs of the rival tribes' warbands, expand the storage rooms and hallways, loot the bodies of the crusaders above and bring all the armor and weapons into the armory to be cleaned and repaired later.

The archdruid was still standing in the shrine room, thinking to himself, when Soran walked in. Garbed in a hooded robe of ebony, Fangir mistook the imp for the spirit, at least until it turned its head and spoke. The construct's smoldering eyes dimly illuminated the features of his face, even with the hood up. With flesh the color of blisters, several pairs of curling horns visible on his head, and an infernal visage, Fangir knew immediately that this was a demon. This demon had an air of power and authority about it, but it was nothing like the hypnotic, calming effect that heralded the Shadow's presence. The archdruid stared at the thing before him, slightly scared but not at all surprised. The others in the room continued their drudgery, too foolish or too zealous to be concerned that they worshiped a spirit with demonic servants.

A deep scowl appeared on the demon's face after a few moments. Soran rasped, his voice a diabolic rumble, [b]"Well? Are you their master?"[/b] A yellow haze drifted out of the demon's mouth as it talked, filling the poorly ventilated chamber with the reek of sulfur and burned flesh. Fangir stopped gawking at the demon and opened his mouth, only to be interrupted. [b]"There is little that I loath more than your ilk. Your pungent stench fills these halls. Alas, we must coexist. Our overlord demands it. My subordinates will soon arrive, along with fifty bound ghosts. The ghosts will be content to meander in the dark recesses of this cavern, out of the way. My kind, however, will make our quarters near this room. Our master will be content to live in this room."[/b]

The demon's sneering tone and attempt to take control had Fangir seething in anger. The archdruid hissed, "I am chieftain over these halls and woods and people, not you."

[b]"You are no lord and you own nothing. We are all servants to our dark lord, and this entire world is his."[/b]

Rightfully concerned for his own well being, Fangir held his tongue. The demon scowled at him once more before pulling a small vial from the folds of his black robe. Soran leered at the archdruid as he placed the tiny container on the shrine, below the figurine, and filled it with his own blood. The archdruid's shock upon seeing the glowing blood was droll in a way, but Soran did not laugh. There was much work to be done, and it would be in his best interest not to push the poxy human much further.

_______________

Meanwhile, leagues away, Shaige silently drifted amongst the bleak buildings of granite slabs that made up most of Paterdomus. The center of the city was dominated by a mighty citadel that dwarfed everything in sight, and many a mountain as well. Two twin spires rose from the granite fortress, one tower white and one black: the homes of the water and fire priests, respectively. Something about the citadel was disconcerting; the whole place radiated a strange power of some sort. Sensitive to magic, Shaige knew that there had to be an object of great power within the cathedral's heart, but whatever it was had a holy aura. Its power repelled the Keeper and weakened him, even from miles away its effect could be felt to one sensitive to magic. So Shaige avoided the citadel for now, privy to the mumblings of guardsmen and hushed conversations of peasants, rather than the plans of the priests and high inquisitors within the fortress. 

Still, Shaige was able to learn much even without entering the citadel. Just as the fire priests had launched a crusade against the tribes to the west that occasionally raided the hinterlands, the water priests were locked in a struggle of some sort against Paterdomus's ancient and worst enemies to the north, whoever they were. Shaige had felt it: the entire river to the north of Paterdomus had been cursed, or blessed, depending on one's perspective. At first he hadn't understood what the enchantment did, but it wasn't hard to deduce. With some awesome feat of magic centuries ago, the city had enchanted the river Suri. From the moment the river began enchanted, to the end of time, no man from the north would ever be able to cross the river without being smitten by the power of Paterdomus' gods of water. But now, the enchantment was beginning to fail, and the water priests were desperately trying to maintain the enchantment.

The Temple tried to hide such matters from the public, and so details were sparse. Shaige was still trying to learn more, days later, when the city's alarm was raised. Guards and priests were rushing out to the walls and sallying out to the fields just outside the city, ready to fight something. Upon flying into the air, Shaige saw plumes of smoke in the distance. The Keeper went out to investigate.

[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 above. Plenty of different tools and weapons, though they are generally of poor quality.
[u]Infrastructure:[/u] Shaige's dungeon is a sprawling, subterranean city. The entrance is in the side of a rocky hill, in the form of a narrow cave concealed with magic. Down below are many twisting corridors and chambers or varying size. Magical lighting is used, so as to not suffocate everyone inside the poorly ventilated cavern. The cave system is massive, and much of it is unused and unexplored. Shaige's dungeon heart is in a shrine room, deep below the surface and all the other rooms.