[IC] Dungeon Keepers

[Cyclone]

Dusk began to set over the forest, yet the dying light still visible over the Hindrun mountains in the distance was enough to illuminate a few hundred grim Klug and their village in the distance. They had been expected! The moment that the first few Mutig and zealots had emerged from the dense forest, they were spotted by the awaiting Klug. Any element of surprise was gone; it was fortunate that there was a considerable distance between the edge of the clearing, where the majority of Shaige's army was now gathered, and the Klug village with hundreds of warriors waiting right outside.

With perhaps a mile separating the two platoons, Soran had time to quickly order the men into formations. The zealots, with their heavy armor, tower shields, and massive pikes, formed a line three men deep. With their augmented strength, the zealots were able to carry shields twice as thick as those of any normal humans. In their testudo formation, their shields created a wall of metal and roof that no arrow could hope to pierce, and enchantments in the shields would make projectiles of magical nature largely ineffective as well. In this way the zealots advanced in unison, exaggerating the rigidity and slowness of their movements so that the Klug would be caught off guard by their unnatural speed when the battle began.

Behind them the hundred bowmen and few dozen druids formed a loose mass, with Fangir in the midst to issue orders. Normally Soran would have stationed them ahead of the zealots with the orders to fire upon the enemy and then retreat through holes in the infantry's formation in order to avoid being butchered in a melee battle. However, this tactic would be disastrous solely because they were so terribly outnumbered; for every shot the archers fired at the Klug, two or three would no doubt come in response. While the normal tribesmen were far more expendable than the zealots, Soran did not intend to waste their lives for such little gain.

To any seasoned captain the army's plan would appear transparent. The zealots with their shield wall would engage and hold off the hordes of enemies, while the druids and bowmen behind would barrage the enemy until they were routed by the unstoppable zealots. The Klug, with their stone tools and hide armor, were obviously not accustomed to this type of warfare. As such, the way that they attempted to fight the zealots would be unpredictable, but the answer would be obvious to most officers experienced in this type of battle.

With a hundred men and a row three deep, the zealots formed a line that was hardly more than thirty men abreast, and their testudo formation had them even more close than usual. As such, it would be easy enough to sacrifice some men to harass them or attack head-on, while the rest moved to flank the formation and attack the vulnerable Mutig tribesmen and druids that were positioned behind. While this would no doubt appear a solid strategy, it would spell almost certain doom. Soran had ordered the zealots to march in a line three men thick because of their ability to move nearly unhindered and unslowed in their armor. It would take only a few moments for the second and third rows to move outwards and lengthen the line, or directly engage any Klug that attempted to skirt around the formation to fight the tribesmen behind. With their unparallelled strength, stamina, and skill, the zealots would be even harder to break than they appeared. A row even just one man thick would likely be enough to hold back the charging Klug.

So it was that the formidable zealots marched towards the Klug at an ominously slow rate, the other tribesmen trailing behind. The horned heads of Soran and his nine imps could just be seen some distance to the side of the zealots. In this position the demonic general could see the whole battle, something that would not have been possible from behind given the flat battleground. He would also be free to wreak havoc with his lethal magic before making a hasty retreat if he was charged. Though Soran's magic was rather weak as far as constructs went, he would still prove far more potent than nigh any mere human.

===---_---===

Shaige's ghostly form darted between the trees, the five shadow beasts bounding by his side and Ifrit following in his wake. Soon they were joined by a sixth shadow beast, one of those that had been sent to scout ahead and guard the main army from the eyes of any Klug scouts. The lupine monster, between its ragged panting, spoke to Shaige in some garbled language of growls. As they continued to move through the forest, the shadow beast warned its master that there had been an alarming amount of scouts. The beasts had disposed of at least twenty by the time this one left the others.

A short while later, another eight joined Shaige's cohort. This time, the wraith stopped as one of the beasts in the form of a bear rapidly conveyed the results of an excursion into the Klug village itself. Any hopes of a surprise attack were hopeless; the Klug had already sheltered their weak within some temple atop the hill, while several hundred warriors were outside the village awaiting a battle. Hundreds more were inside the village as a reserve. Soran had already been spotted and was moving to attack, completely unaware of the reserve inside the village. His army was easily outnumbered by around three to one, maybe more.

Turning to Ifrit, who would have been left to wonder was being said, Shaige's empty voice echoed out, "The attack has begun. By some way they knew of our coming, and are prepared." The spirit in every way displayed calm, betraying no sign of the fury that he felt. How had they known? After hardly a second of reflection the wriath saw the answer right before him: Ifrit. He had only a few days ago ordered the monster to slay the Klug looting the village, yet leave some survivors. No doubt those survivors had found their way back and shared their tale. Sparing even a single Klug now seemed incredibly foolish in hindsight, but at least the sight of Ifrit would be even more terrifying now.

Shaige's thoughts were interrupted by the unexpected arrival of the last shadow beast. This one, an owl, had welcome news. It informed its master that the pain elementals had stayed inside the forest, skirting around the clearing unseen. Some three and a half hundred of the deadly spirits laid in wait on the west side of the village, the opposite side of Soran's army. They were in a perfect position to approach unseen from behind the large temple, to assist Shaige and Ifrit in slaying the reserve forces inside the village. From there, it would be just a short march up to the temple, where the remnants of the Klug would be trapped. The owl was sent off, with orders to unleash the pain elementals onto the village the moment the sun's last rays vanished behind the mountains. That would leave Shaige and Ifrit some time to arrive at the fray. The two quickly set off, with the fourteen shadow beasts not far behind.

Soran's army would likely have just began fighting the Klug outside the village's east gate by the time Ifrit burst forth from the treeline to the north, with orders to leap over the pathetic abatis that had been thrown together around the village. From there, the monster was to obliterate a few houses and rampage through the reserve forces. Terrified and thrown into chaos, the reserves would then fall easy prey to the pain elementals that would come shortly after. Shaige himself waved a hand and reduced a segment of the abatis to clumps of dirt as the wooden stakes rapidly rotted. The wraith then walked walked right into the village, towards the hill with the temple. The fourteen shadow beasts at his sides would attack any fool brave enough to try stopping the keeper.

[The 42nd Gecko]

The Klug were certainly not conventional fighters as their opponents estimated, but they were not clueless as to fighting more technologically advanced forces, as evidenced by the anti-cavalry stakes that lined the village.

The Zealots would quickly find that their armament increased their weight so significantly that another one of the Klug's anti-cavalry measures (as the tribesmen were incredibly afraid of such beasts and the warriors astride them, because they completely overran the Klug hit and run tactics) hit them hard. The Klug had spread thatch and similar materials all over their village and fields, and then got everything wet* with considerably more water than it seemed they would easily have access to**. This meant that while the Klug's unarmored and staggered formations could walk and fight atop the thatch, cavalry would plow straight through the thatch and into mud below, slowing, trapping, and tripping them. The Zealot's inhuman amounts of armor weighed them down so much that as they got closer, they would find themselves slowing, tripping, and generally being rendered an ineffective fighting force, not due to their lack of strength, but simply due to bad footing.

Meanwhile, the Klug, rather than attempting to engage terrifying steel warriors in close combat, did what they always did. Throw spears at the more advanced folk until they fall over in the mud. Each line of the Klug formation, at their champion's command, launched a volley of throwing spears, then retreated to become the next backline. This allowed the Klug to keep up a constant volley of spears on the Zealots while never bringing their forces remotely into range for retaliation and staying staggered so that an arrow volley would be less effective. With the Zealot's testudo rendered less effective by their poor footing, the Zealots would be forced to either suffer constant casualties as they approached, or attempt to hunker down in the mud, find footing, and reform their testudo. Unless the Zealots or their leaders had a trick up their sleeve, the Zealots had been put in check.

Likewise, the Mutig tribesmen, if they tried to advance now, would find their path full of churned up mud, the thatch no longer supporting their path, and lacking the strength of the Zealots, hindered severely. Unless they went around the Zealots, of course.

*see previous Klug description of defenses.

**Foreshadowing

~~

The problem with attempting to use Pain Elements as a surprise attack was thus. "Sepulchral wailing accompanied them wherever they went, and their titian orange glow easily gave away their presence." As soon as they left the treeline to attack the forces guarding the temple, they found themselves eating about two hundred flaming spears, lit on the fires nearby, and about fifty magically blessed spears. As they attempted to fly higher and overtake the temple, they would find themselves eating many many more, as the guardians chucked spears as fast as they could, the normal warriors taking slightly longer to throw flaming spears. If they chose to retreat, they'd find themselves still in the line of fire. Throwing spears from an elevated position at a force with no cover or armor was the ideal situation for the Klug.

Meanwhile, 375 soldiers and 50 mages were left to deal with Ifrit, Shaige, and his shadow beasts. While Ifrit would draw attention of most of the 200 soldiers on the ground level, Shaige and his shadow beasts would find themselves the sole targets of those guarding the terraced path, numbering 175 soldiers and 50 mages. He and his honor guard would be bombarded with a few hundred spears, on fire and blessed alternatively, if he continued his advance. Against Ifrit, the soldiers, at least those that retained their senses, adopted typical hit and run tactics. Whenever Ifrit faced them, flee and scatter, and whenever his back was turned, chuck spears. With the advantage of numbers, they would seek to never clump together and simply never face the beast head on. Of course, quite a few, without the rallying banner of their champion or the experienced mages, would simply be running away from him, but that simply added to the tactic.

Casualties: Whoever Ifrit kills. How deadly is he?

[Cyclone]

Soran and the zealots soon discovered that the dusk night had concealed some treacherous terrain. The ground was soaked, perhaps by some workings of water magic, and as one approached the village the shard earth underfoot soon turned into a muddy bog. Their dense formation and the darkness itself worked to hinder their progress across the treacherous terrain. Their boots sinking into the mud and their formation unable to stay cohesive at even a slow march, the zealots had two options. They could break formation and simply charge the javelin-throwers as an unorganized mob. The Klug would no doubt be taken off guard and scared by the unnatural speed and strength that the zealots could summon once out of formation, but they would still claim many lives before being routed, assuming the zealots could even break them.

The other option, and the only one that made sense, was for them to maintain the testudo formation and hold put. Their shieldwall was strong. In the dark and from a distance, the Klug were unable to reliably throw their javelins into the impossibly small target that was the miniscule spaces where the shields did not overlap. What few lucky attacks did make it through either missed or were largely stopped by the infantry's heavy armor. As such, the zealots were in no need to hurry. They could conceivably stay put and absorb the suppressive fire until the Klug ran out of spears.

Of course, they would not have to. A javelin, even when thrown with an atlatl, could not hope to match the range of a longbow. By moving close enough to engage the zealots, the Klug had put themselves into range of the Mutig druids and archers that had behind. Granted, the lightly armored rangers maintained a safe distance so that no javelins could be thrown over the zealots and into their ranks, so their aim would be compromised to some extent. The night's darkness and the bog beneath their feet did not help in this regard, either. Still, with a hundred and thirty druids and archers, some projectiles were bound to hit their mark.

Soran was somewhat irked by the Klug not taking the bait and responding as expected, but it was looking like they would soon have to retreat. With these javelins unable to do anything save pin down the zealots, and the bowmen beginning to claim the lives of those who advanced to throw their javelins, the demonic general saw little options that the Klug had left. The very bog that they had created as a defense would prevent them from moving around the zealots to attack the Mutig tribesmen. Bearing a sadistic smile now that victory was within sight, the construct summoned a great fireball and lobbed it across the battlefield, into the midst of the javelineers' ranks.

===---_---===

The pain elementals were unsurprisingly seen the moment they emerged from the treeline, but that hardly compromised their surprise attack. Flying, they were able to rapidly descend upon the village unhindered by the muddy ground and barricades. Of course, the warriors by the temple did not sit idly by; many of the burning javelins found their targets, yet many also missed. It was difficult to hit a quick moving, flying target. Still, it mattered little, for this temple had not been the pain elementals' target. The vast majority of the screaming ghosts flew right around the temple, over the terraced path full of men trying to stop Shaige, and into the village. There, they emerged from behind the homes and assailed the scattered reserve force that was trying to slay Ifrit. Several of the spirits had turned their attention to the temple, though.

With reckless abandon, for their agony had already driven many insane and the dead needn't fear death in any case, they descended upon the defenders. Up close, almost all of the pain elementals were simply skewered in melee by the blessed javelins. However, there were two or three that closed in without being hit, and a few that survived glancing blows from the weapons. Those few pain elementals would likely be all it would take to throw the warriors outside the temple into a scared and disorganized mob. Each of the pain elementals exuded an aura of crippling torment, which briefly stunned their prey and allowed them the time to maneuver themselves right into the enemy's midst. Then, as the pain elementals were wont to do, they exploded. In great blasts of fire and agony, the few suicidal spirits that made it into the midst of the javelin throwers would each fell no fewer than five or six men.

===---_---===

Now that night had fallen, Shaige and the shadow beasts were in their element. The former was filled with a dark and insidious strength, while the latter merged with the darkness itself and became nearly invisible. When Shaige's march was stymied by a horde of warriors guarding the path upwards, the shadow beasts scattered. Moving unseen, they continued up the path some ways before suddenly appearing in the torchlight to brutally assault one or two men, before making a quick retreat out of the light. Then, some time later, they inevitably emerged in a different spot. In this way they sought to wreak havoc and distract the defenders from Shaige.

The Keeper, meanwhile, had no need to hide. The shadowy apparition that was the wraith was visible only because of the glow of his amethyst eyes, and of the absolute black of his body. Beneath the stars, his body was a blob of pure, jet black, amidst a sea of grey. Still, he was only more terrifying for his inability to be seen. With a mere thought, Shaige ripped the nearby shadows from the objects that they had always been affixed to. The things crawled across the ground like some sort of unnatural, black oil. When they reached the Keeper, they leapt up into the air and began flying in circles around him. The shields of pure shadow were able to buffet and deflect the pathetic javelins.

Seeing that his efforts were futile, one of the warriors decided to set one final spear alight rather than flee. Foolish to a fault, he charged the Keeper. Ducking a shadow that flew to intercept him, the man impaled the shadowy monstrosity that was invading his home. Then, he drove the thing deeper with all his strength. The burning wooden haft went through Shaige's torso. For a moment, nothing happened. The Keeper simply stared in disbelief. Then, the writhing shadows that cloaked the wraith melted away. The blazing javelin sputtered and died from the sheer malevolence of the wraith it had buried itself into.

Shaige was a pure embodiment of the four black magics: darkness, smoke, blood, and soul. With the shadows gone, the glow of his amaranth eyes illuminated the horror that had hid within the mantle of darkness. Shaige was a floating skeleton, drenched in blood, with dozens of wailing souls trapped within his ribcage. A red smoke hazed the air around. The vapor had the horrific odor of burned flesh, yet it looked like some sort of gaseous blood. But the warrior did not have time to ponder whatever the vile substance might have been. The flying shadow that he had dodged now caught him. The gloom itself wrapped around the man's body, pulled him to the ground, and smothered the man to death. However, it did nothing to silence his screams.

Now was the time. Shaige's thoughts resonated through his dungeon heart and were relayed to the Destruction Catalyst. The awaiting Ripper heard the plea, and channeled its strength into the Keeper. At first, Shaige felt nothing. But then a surge of unadulterated destruction magic filled his body. Had he been more substantial, this very well might have inflicted physical harm, but the magical simply coalesced into a new cloak around Shaige's skeletal form. Rather than a dark shadow of a cloaked man, Shaige now glowed like the crimson sun. The area around Shaige began to rapidly weather from the sheer aura of ruination. Seeing some amount of success from the sacrifice of that one warrior, another five or six of the temple guardians charged Shaige. The Keeper waved a hand, and a wall of carmine met the men. Upon coming into contact with the pure destruction magic, their bodies were obliterated. Not even skeletons remained.

Attacking Army

Forces: 100 Mutig tribesmen (bowmen), 30 Mutig druids, 275 pain elementals, 100 zealots (5 suffered minor injuries), 12 shadow beasts (1 remained in forest, 11 covering Shaige's advance), Fangir the archdruid, Soran the imp construct (and his 9 imps), Ifrit the rogue being, and Shaige.
Casualties Sustained: 75 pain elementals, 3 shadow beasts

[KabenSaal]

Emily observed the action going down below from atop the temple in a seated position, all but hidden by the shadows. Usually, she would pay no part in a fight, and let whoever would win, win. But there was something in there, something dark and evil. Much like herself. And the only thing she hated more than herself, where creatures like her. The tribesmen seemed smarter than originally granted, with many tactics against each of the enemy, bar this shadowy thing. While Emily was not exactly on the Klug's side, and so cared little about collateral damage, she wasn't going to whimsically throw massive gouts of fire around for no reason. However, fire brought to mind how dark it was turning, and Emily could not accurately incinerate things without being able to see them properly, so she stood, and held her arm out, a small globe of fire spawning from her hand, and raising into the sky as she threw it. Then, as it reached the apex, seventy feet above the ground, it grew many times, bursting into a miniature sun, and illuminating the entire village with it's radiant light. Inevitably, a few creatures would be temporarily blinded by the sudden influx of light, but that was beyond Emily's concern.

With the new light, she saw the rampaging creature -Ifrit, not that she knew it's name - fighting the Kulg's reserves. with methodical precision, Emily rose her arm and pointed a single finger at Ifrit, channelling a highly concentrated dose of her Fire into a very thin, rather long beam. In this state, it lacked the magnificent explosion upon impact, but the penetration rating skyrocketed. It was a spell Emily thought great for single targets, especially targets that thought themselves safe behind whatever it was they wanted to hide behind. After a few seconds of channeling, Emily fired her beam directly at Ifrit, not really caring where she hit, just so long as she did. Emily wanted it's attention, and also to cause a bit of pain while she was at it. In this battle, Emily could not lose. Either it died, or she did, both where a victory for her.

Furthermore, above in the sky, the heat from the massive Mini-Sun began to rise, and Storm-Clouds gathered in response, huge Cumulonimbus clouds carrying a massive of rain and electrical energy, ready to strike at random, or be directed.

[The 42nd Gecko]

That the acts performed on themselves were more catastrophic than a stranger who considered herself a monster, was in some way, slightly ironic. But when hundreds of dead are the source of the irony, it is.. Less humorous.

"What sorcery is..." The champion's eyes were wide with shock, seeing the sun and storm, and the devastation Ifrit, Shaige, and the Pain elements were inflicting on his people, before he hardened. "No time left. Time to play our final card."

The Champion fell to the ground, eyes closed and sunk his heavy gauntlets into the mud with a dull thud. When his eyes opened again, they were the eyes of a beast. The eyes, of a Loa. The Klug once had many Loa, as the Mutig. But in a time of great peril, they had combined their powers into one Great Loa. But the spell that sustained them as one being required power, and so a deal was struck. The Klug would have always champion, a great mage, who would sustain, and eventually join into the Great Loa. In return he would wield their power as one of them.

"Mourn the noon, break the dew." His voice intoned, and all through the battlefield, every Klug mage stopped, and intoned with their champion. A mighty spell, and even if some of the casters were slain, there were simply so many to cast it. Even the spell shielding the temple faltered, to draw upon those mages too.

The soldiers atop the terrace, recognizing the signal, lit and send the rocks piled up tumbling down towards the village. The wet ground and thatch suddenly became dry, much of the thatch suddenly leaping up from wild jets of gas. The water that had been formed from the Klug spell, joining together hydrogen and oxygen, was undone. And then, lit on fire by the rolling stones and watchfires set, the entire village went up in somewhat explosive flames. Not a grand explosion all at once, but rather as if it had been set on fire unanimously with a few small pockets of explosion here and there. Regardless, the entire reserve force in the village proper was dead or about to be, and the Pain Elementals, if vulnerable to fire, would have likely suffered similar casualties.

The Shadow Beasts, at the edge of the terrace, would have either had to move up to the terrace in now full broad daylight, from all the fire and light spells going off, and quickly be annihilated, or be in the fire. The Pain Elementals, Ifrit, and Shaige would have to contend with surviving it.

However the shield was down, the village forces were annihilated and the Champions outside army was outgunned with nowhere to run.

Now the mages who had previously maintained the shield came out, spears in hand, and joined the volley of blessed and aflame spears at the village in the general vicinity of where the feared the enemy was. This dire strategy had only been called out once in the history of the Klug, and given the losses already sustained and the unearthly , their morale was low. Only the will of their Champion, felt through the same connection that had allowed the communal spell, kept them fighting as a unit.

"Fire cleanses everything." The champion rose, and with two silent arm motions, caused his forces assembled outside to split in two and run around the burning village towards the temple paths. With the shield down, more conventional protection was required. He followed one of these groups. The Mutig and Zealots, due to the mud, could not move in time to prevent them, though the Zealot's surprising speed would allow them to give close enough chase that the Klug would not have much time to ready themselves once they arrived.

Remaining Forces:
350 Soldiers on the outside with the champion (they had staggered formations to reduce the effectiveness of arrow volleys and fireballs, coincidentally.)
0 Soldiers in the village.
140 Soldiers on the Terrace, 50 mages on the terrace.
180 Soldiers on the Terrace, 145 mages on the terrace (the shield is broken)
5000 civilians

330 Tier 1s dead, 5 mages dead.
And that's the last special trick they've got up their sleeve. They are pretty much reduced to "hold the temple grounds, throw spears, and hope the champion can best Shaige."

~~

Status

2nd Minion: 5/5
Upgrading 1st Unit: 0/3

Location: Slightly north of the town of Hallowsdown 13S,5W
Dungeon: A village, a chapel that belches smoke and fire.
Minions: A few hundred villagers, but most are civilians, and the Vinter Tribe similarly most are civilians, 60 Followers and 50 Faithful, 5 Sons of the Mountain
Resources: The village's harvest was undamaged and its reserves of steel have just begun to be tapped, sources of wood are low.

Compendium:

Sons of the Mountain - Second Minion. The champions of the Vinter tribe, each of these warriors bears the skin of a bear he slew with his bare hands. That was BEFORE the Emperor blessed them. Possess of absurd strength and excellent fighting prowess, these warriors now bear a mix of buckler, axe, two handed axe, and throwing axes, depending on each warrior's preferences. They are hardy against cold, and excel at fighting in rough terrain that resembles their mountainous home. In personal, non-formation combat in rough terrain, they are one of the Eylsium's greatest melee forces. They are likewise experienced at monster hunting knowing both how to hunt stealthy Ice Cats that strike from ambush. They can also deal with beasts of massive strength, knowing how to defeat the Frost Wurms of their homeland by working as a team to surround and harry from the front while striking from the rear. However, they are not trained to fight in tight formations, and against even normal soldiers fighting in tight formation on open ground, the Sons of the Mountain are just as likely to die from a lucky hit as any other unarmored (though very enduring) man. Against a phalanx of similarly strong forces bearing armament and armor meant for infantry formation clashes, the Sons of the Mountain would be at a significant disadvantage. And, the whole no armor thing makes them really vulnerable to ranged attacks, though they are fast enough to close as quick as cavalry. The Emperor's blessing, other than general strength buffs, grants their axes an unusual power to harm ghosts, elementals, and other magical beings, sealing their spells and magic as the blades strike them, making them an excellent force for engaging unearthly eldritch beings in hand to hand combat.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Ifrit was more than content in this battle. His earlier tasks had been nothing, just grinding ants into the dirt. Centuries of imprisonment, surely he had deserved a better challenge. Yes, the might of Paterdomus had fallen before him, much of their army thrown to him like the kindling to a flame, but that was before he was whole again. Before... Before Shaige, his new master. This was different. He felt the thrill of each kill, stamping his feet upon the poor savages without a second thought.

These were challenging foes. For even as he weighed carelessly around the battle, claws spilling blood in the rampage, he was stuck by many of the burning and blessed projectiles, which were rather painful, especially as his new form was fleshy enough to keep them embedded deep. As if the pain weren't enough, it became increasingly harder for him to find victims. They were scurrying about, faster than he could whip around to strike them down. He wasn't used to smart tactics like this, far more used to the strategy of standing ground and casting magic. Of course, the solution to this problem was simple enough, but before it could be executed, Ifrits attention was distracted.

When the battlefield was lit up, Ifrit spun around to find the source of this light. Surely his master would not approve of this. After a moment of searching, Ifrit felt a stinging sensation across his obsidian hide. Though at first the feeling was negligible, the searing found its way around the plates of pure black. It was that foolish attack that brought Ifrit staring in the right direction.

A new bloodlust filled the creatures amethyst eyes, as he froze amidst the raging melee. He stared at the combatant for just the slightest moment, before he took in a deep breath, shuddering as he did. Though many spears were flung into his body, he cared not. There was one target. One goal. One kill. With a mighty roar, Iftit shook the battleground. From every pore and orfice on the lizard creature, his deep black smoke poured out, rolling in thick waves toward the pyro upon the temple, masking much of the battlefield.

Ifrit would have trouble reaching the woman, as the path to the temple was heavily guarded. But under the impenetrable black of his smoke, none could see far enough to predict his path, which was erratic. He leapt and bounded across the field, claws trampling soldiers and defenses alike. In his weaving leaps, Ifrit sometimes allowed his tail to whip out above the smoke. Surely this would be unnerving to Emily- not knowing where and when a strike would erupt from this sea of black below.

This time, there was no hesitation. As soon as he was within range, Ifrit coiled his back legs, hidden at the very edge of the ocean of choking smog. It would've taken a masterful eye to track his movement, but anyone could guess the he had been moving to here- close to his opponent. Many beasts feared flame, but Ifrit was not so foolish. He thought back to the days of his service under the Infernal King. He had soared across the skies on wings of flame, spreading his masters will as jets of flame, raining down upon heathens. Though his new form was not nearly as extravagant, his charred hide had been tempered by flame, and he could still feel the happy burning deep within himself. What a fool this woman was, to challenge him with fire.

A single bound brought him before Emily, his shiny claws scrabbling to catch a hold. Rather than attempt to snap her up in his mighty jaws, Ifrit would take the merciful path. "Today you have made a dire mistake, and chosen the wrong side. You have not yet seen the truth of my masters power- his might is unrivaled. But you are merely an ignorant child, so I shall show you mercy." Ifrit spoke, lowering his serpentine head to her level. "I am Ifrit. I am the living flame, the smoke that scours the land. I have scarred the very sky, and toppled a thousand rulers. I, the Scion of the Infernal King have brought ruin to more villages and castles than one can see in a lifetime. I, humble servant of the true ruler of these lands, have been given the honor of dealing with your kind. Today, little one, you must make your choice. Turn your fire on the filthy savages below, and accept my masters might...' he said, gesturing to the battle below with his tail. "Or end up another bloodied corpse, left to rot in the dirt." Even as he spoke, Ifrit ran his tongue out across his teeth, baring the thousand ivory needles, clearly hoping for her to refuse, and make his day that much better.

[Cyclone]

Shaige's might would have been a spectacle to behold were it not so terrifying. With an unorthodox mixture of finesse and sheer brutality, he felled every man that tried to challenge him as he ascension up the temple path. A cloud of mystic smoke suddenly appeared in front of one charging warrior at the last moment before he reached Shaige. Blinded, the man thrashed and thrust his spear wildly. A ghastly blade materialized in the wraith's hand, and the spirit effortlessly cleaved the man in half with the sword of solid smoke and shadow. Another met a similar fate, Shaige grabbing him by the throat before hurling him to the side with an unearthly amount of force. Wreathed in the Ripper's cataclysmic magic, the wraith's touch had been enough to render the man dead before he even struck the ground and shattered half his bones.

The massacre came to an abrupt halt. The puny Klug shielded their eyes, but the Keeper raised his head to see the massive fireball, the luminosity of which was enough to light up the entire village. Filling the air with unnatural, piercing shrieks, the shadow beasts that had covered their master's advance were suddenly left terribly vulnerable. Still half blinded, the desperate warriors managed to banish the monsters back to the spirit realm while the things were incapacitated by the light. Summoning the shadow beasts once more would take incredible effort and no small amount of time.

His ire now unleashed, Shaige's rasping voice swept over the entire battlefield like a frigid northern wind, "The darkness is bottomless, amaranthine, inevitable. The accursed light may never triumph for long. Your light shall be extinguished by the Shadows. Your wives and children will fill the air with their wails and lamentations, until the Smoke fills their lungs and ushers deathly silence. The Blood shall flow in rivers. Your Souls shall be mine. The warriors, now recovering from the sudden appearance of Emily's star, desperately hurled more javelins at the malevolent spirits. The light having banished the encircling shadows that had protected Shaige, the spears hit their mark. Then, they simply crumbled to dust upon coming into contact with the Ripper's ruinous magic that cloaked the Keeper.

The wraith outstretched one skeletal finger towards the fireball in the sky. The unadulterated magic of the Ripper that currently composed Shaige's robes began to glow more intensely. A scintillating, vermillion mist of raw power surged towards the artificial sun. The fireball reddened. For a moment, it seemed as if nothing had happened. Then the sun violently exploded. Its bloodied flames fell down like napalm. They showered the temple path and the already burning village. They bathed the flattened top of the temple in fire.

The great blazes everywhere allowed one to see reasonably well, but they also created equally great shadows. Shaige lifted a hand, and great clouds of unholy smoke emerged from the corpses of the fallen. The vile substance found its way to the shadows of the surviving warriors that guarded the terraces. The shadows touched by Shaige's black magic suddenly sprung up from the ground, gaunt, elongated, and black as midnight, but otherwise identical to the men that they proceeded to mercilessly assault.

Shaige turned around to hear the thunderous footsteps of Ifrit, coming from somewhere within a great cloud of smoke. Behind the rogue being trailed a horde of pain elementals. The spirits had been largely unaffected by the sudden conflagration in the village. Not particularly vulnerable to flame, and capable of simply flying upwards and hovering above the fires, the few of the things had fallen. Shaige allowed Ifrit to draw the attention of the ragged remnants of the defending forces, following the beast up the path towards the temple.

The pain elementals gathered near the bottom of the path, spotting the two groups of incoming defenders that were retreating from Soran's forces. That army would have no easy time hacking their way through a couple hundred angry spirits in order to pursue Shaige.

===---_---===

The moment that it became clear that the klug were falling back to their temple, the zealots abandoned their formation and surged forward as a loose group of individual soldiers. If any Klug turned around to loose javelins, they would find that the zealots' tower shields served them well even without a rigid formation. The hundred zealots followed after one of the two groups. That particular group would likely suffer horrific casualties, the zealots catching up and attacking their rear the moment that they stopped to fight their way through the pain elementals.

The druids and bowmen continued to loose their projectiles until the Klug were well out of range. Then, they too took off in pursuit. Unlike the zealots, they possessed only ordinary strength, and as such the mud greatly hindered their progress. They likely would not be swift enough to partake in any more fighting before the battle was already done.

===---_---===

With a mixture of awe and fear, Soran beheld the fake sun as it hung suspended in the sky, basking the battlefield in light. The construct had never seen such an incredible feat performed by any save his master, and for a moment doubt crept into his heart. The Klug were proving to be far stronger than any had anticipated. Had the Dark Lord met his match?

The imp construct spotted Shaige partway up the path. The Klug outside the village were now falling back, making a beeline for the Keeper and the temple. Soran's master was no doubt in need of help now more than ever. Without another thought, the imp construct ran after the second of the two groups, the one the zealots were allowing to flee unchallenged. By scorching the ground ahead with demonic flames, the construct instantly baked the earth dry and was able to move unhindered through the bog. The imp construct ran even harder, emboldened as Shaige brazenly addressed the pathetic humans. When the wraith's thunderous voice vanished and the battlefield became quiet by comparison, Soran could discern the sound of footsteps coming from behind.

The demonic general had expected that one of his nine imp subordinates had gathered the courage to follow him to battle, so naturally he was disappointed when it was suddenly Fangir that was running at his side. The construct had neither love nor trust for Fangir. Soran would hardly be shocked if the archdruid tried to assassinate him amidst all the chaos of the battlefield. Regardless, those thoughts were interrupted by the false sun's sudden explosion that shook the battleground.

((I don't have time to do another fancy list of casualties and remaining forces. All the shadow beasts are dead except to that owl that stayed in the forest after sending the pain elementals. As in for the pain elementals themselves, let's say that another 25 have died since that last post of mine.))

[KabenSaal]

mily saw she had the creature's attention, and began to move her fingers -each independent of the other in movement - as well as her hands , complexly. The movement required great concentration, and so she did not properly see Ifrit's journey to her. She saw movement of many down on the ground, but it didn't register in her mind. Just as Ifrit arrived, Emily's fingers and hands finished their movements, and she swept both her arms wide, in a large circle around her, finishing her work. Then, Ifrit was on her. The the was rather intimidating, even while scrambling to get a good grip, and so Emily stepped back so her hands touched the wall of the rocky outcrop, looking as if she had fled in terror of the monster. Her hands slid along the rocks as the creature spoke. It offered unity, as if Emily would ever consider such a thing, but it did give her time to finish her plan.

'Dam, he doesn't half gone on, does he?' Emily thought to himself, as he reeled off titles as if meant to impress the young Rogue Being. Which they probably where, but Emily suffered a madness that the wish of Death brought, and so they didn't.
"O Great Beast, I am as you say, an ignorant child, please give me a moment to bask in your glory" She flattered, before her sun went out. Being able to just, blow up something of that size, made Emily think there was some truth to Ifrit's words about his master's power, but cared little about it, it had in fact made the second part of her plan easier. She then finished with her connection to the mountain - now the shaman had stopped using that spell, she could bring her Earth Magic to the fray as well, not her strong suit, but still potent - and smiled softly, tapping her palm against the rock face, and making the rock open up and swallow Ifrit whole. However, That was not all Emily had planned, as within the rock prison Ifrit suddenly found himself in, there where Runes. Dozens of small runes where encompassed by four larger runes, which in turn resided inside one massive rune, clearly the work she had been gestating as Ifrit approached. Once Ifrit was trapped, Emily would conjure a Firey Pillar on the outcrop, as well as gathering the shards of her Sun on the ground to make a second, identical Pillar. With this done, Emily would vanish in Fire and Smoke from the outcrop, and appear on the ground, in the burning village.

The sudden transition left Emily unbalanced, and desiring to throw up, but she kept her stomach long enough to activate the Runes in the mountain. The small ones could, by themselves, muster enough explosive power to blow a man's fingers off, but little more than that. The four larger runes would be able to scatter a man in a fine red mist across a field, where it to erupt inside him, And the large one, was enough to blow up part of a mountain. Which, incidentally, is exactly what it did. The final part of Emily's great Plan, that had not been ruined by the sudden - but all to late - destruction of her Sun, was that the Storm clouds gathering ahead would unload their entire pent up electrical energy directly into Ifrit, via Emily's Storm Magic - her third and final branch of magic, much like her Earth in that it was not her best, and required preparation to be of any use- and would hopefully make use of any cracks her massive explosive runes had made in him. If, of course, it all went to plan.

[The 42nd Gecko]

The appearance of the sun had been the undoing of the Klug. While it had allowed them to destroy the shadow beasts, it had panicked them into deploying their secret weapon early, and now they were quickly falling to pieces on the battlefield. The Zealots, Shaige, and the Pain Elements dealt such casualties to the Klug that they in general ceased to be an effective fighting force. It would be very costly for the Pain Elementals to commit the final assault on the Temple, given all the mages defending it, but they had sufficient numbers and speed, and feared no death. Soon, almost all of the Klug that had not been cut down fled the battle, some attempting to evacuate their people, but there was simply no where to run. Still the final steps of the battle would take some time to happen, and with all the smoke, chaos, and death, there was opportunity for another small battle to take place.

As Soran ran forward, he would see an ill, unnatural mist suddenly sweeping over him, rising from the ground. Fangir and Soran would suddenly find themselves unable to see each other in the thick cloying mist.

"I don't think I can save my people... But I'll be damned, quite literally if this battle is any indication, if I'm not getting some vengeance." A voice rang out to them, distant and echoing in the mist.

Then a sudden swish. Fangir would see the champion, pipe burning in his mouth, eyes glowing a dull blue in the pattern of a cat's eye, with two gauntleted hands, tensing up into fists. "Boo." Was the word, cold breath like ice, before a fist went swinging at his chest. Given the magical looking nature of the icy gauntlet, it would not seem wise to be hit by it to most. But hey, maybe Fangir was into that sort of thing.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Any dolt with half a brain would've seen that Emily wished to buy time with her innocent compliance. Ifrit was no such creature. He hadn't even understood half of the words he had spoken in the speech, but he had remembered his father, the Infernal King, working the words into his mind. Surely enough, they used to work, long ago. But that was on droves of weak peasants, cowardly kings, and knights of an army slain before their eyes moments before. They had all bowed, and Ifrit thought that this was no different.

When the ground opened up to swallow him, Ifrit scrabbled to get a hand hold, something to keep him afloat, all for naught. His claws ripped the stone down with him, into the cavern, barely large enough for his monstrous body. Instantly, he thought of his tiny stone prison, the granite grip that had held him for so many centuries. Before he could panic, he realized that there would need to be significant magic runes to hold his might- otherwise, it would simply be a matter of time for him to escape. This brightened his spirits greatly, and he began to slam a massive shoulder against the stony wall, mustering all of his force. Of course, all of his hope was dashed as the dozens of runes lit the area up.

The old Ifrit would endlessly struggle to break the seal, until his body was broken. This was not the old Ifrit. It had been a clear mistake to take this wraiths offer for power. The disgusting monster of shadow and blood had led him to near death in his charge on Paterdomus, and surely wouldn't think twice about rescuing the minion that, despite being a useful wall of meat to throw at enemies, was expendable.

Despair and self-loathing brought these hateful thoughts into his mind, and before he could rethink them, his world was gone. Ears filled with an endless ringing, and eyes filled with a bright light, Ifrit found himself disoriented, and unable to move. He attempted to sniff the air, but was met only with the scent of blood. Not that of his enemies- this was an unfamiliar scent. After a moment, the beast realized- This blood was his own. What would dare approach one as powerful as Ifrit, and make him bleed, not simply finish the job.

Soon, the world came back to Ifrit, and he managed to get on his feet, legs shuddering beneath him. He found himself back on the battlefield, launched by the sheer force of the explosion. Embedded deep within his flesh was a thousand pieces of razor sharp stone. There were many massive gashes across his hide, and he could feel plenty of broken bones inside. Ifrit was almost unrecognizable now, as he was completely drenched in the thick oily blood he exuded.

He almost instantly spotted Emily, and could focus on nothing else. Nothing would sway him from this target, short of his own death. This puny magic flinger had gone far across the line of mercy. Ifrit took slow steps, each lurching movement seeming to shake the ground. Though primarily used to be intimidating, Ifrit also felt sharp pains from within his front left leg, and did not wish to test how far he could get with it.

He approached within a few feet of the young sorceress. He growled, baring rows of jagged teeth, snapping as he got closer. The beast reared back, letting out a mighty roar. Before he could slam his claws down upon the woman, the storm struck, with impeccable timing. A burst of lightning hit him, followed by another much larger blast of electricity. This was enough to bring Ifrit down, possibly for good. Unable to stand, the monster fell to the ground, body smoking much more than usual. His bloody face laid mere inches from the one who had defeated him, and it was humiliating for him. Though Ifrit was far from dead, he was certainly out of commission for now. One last unearthly wail echoed around him, before he slipped into a deep slumber.

[Cyclone]

Shaige continued up the path, the resolve of the defenders beginning to break. Many of the soldiers were fleeing for the woods beyond. The pain elementals caught some, but a good amount were still allowed to escape. Pursuing them would be of little purpose. The Klug's warlike nature meant that their neighbors would hardly be keen to welcome them. The other tribes were now watching their borders more intently than ever; these renegades would either starve in the woods, or resort to plundering. Whether they stole from the other forest tribes or fled the woods to Paterdomus' hinterlands, they would no doubt be hunted down and then hanged like the wretched cravens they were.

As the pain elementals rushed in for a bloody battle to secure the temple and dispose of the horde of mages, Shaige's attention was drawn to Ifrit. The wraith's pair of piercing eyes saw the monster clearly, through the smoke, flames, and pandemonium that had taken over the temple's serene outside. For whatever reason the scion had singled out one mage. Standing there, it almost looked as if he was toying with the human, or trying to converse with it. In the middle of the battlefield? The foolish beast!

A moment later, the mysterious woman performed an amazing feat of geomancy by bending the very rock of the hillock to engulf Ifrit, imprisoning the beast. After what seemed only a brief pause, the entire cliff face was gone. It was replaced by a thunderous boom, a great cloud of heavy, choking dust, and a cascade of falling stone. It took Shaige a moment to discern what just happened. The cavity that had trapped Ifrit had exploded, sending the beast (and a few tons of rock) flying and tumbling down the hillside, into the burning village. The Keeper now understood. This had to have been the infidel that had created the false star, an affront to his power. Now, the worm dared to attack one of his favorite minions?

This battle had proved far costlier than expected. However, thus far he had merely lost a few pain elementals and shadow beasts. While useful, the pain elementals were inferior. They were weak, had little capacity for anything spare mindless charges. They had no potential, which made the Keeper view them as even more lowly than the weakest of his Mutig followers. The shadow beasts were more valuable, however he would be able to summon that back or replace them with just some time and magic, both of which the Keeper possessed. Ifrit, on the other hand, was irreplaceable. With a seemingly unshakable loyalty combined with great strength and enough intelligence to use it, Ifrit was of a rare sort. Though some of the rogue being's last thoughts of his master had been cross, they were misplaced. Though all but impossible to tell, the Keeper had grown fond of Ifrit, and each of his distinguished minions.

So it was that Shaige abandoned his advance up the path, leaving the pain elementals to clear it for him. The wraith's form dissipated into the air, as if it had been as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke. Before Emily had time to muse over the possibly vanquished Ifrit, she would no doubt be alarmed to feel a trembling in the air behind her. The odor of burned flesh, Ifrit's heavy smoke, the metallic taste of blood, all these and many more worked in synchronization to overwhelm the senses. However, one particularly distinct and pungent smell was added to the mix: the reek of the underworld, a scent twice as revolting as the rest combined.

If Emily was not as blissfully unaware of her surroundings as an infant in its cradle, the feeling in the air, the horrible stench, and the feeling of two piercing eyes boring into her back would be enough to make the woman turn around. She would see Shaige, in all his glory and all his modesty, standing a few mere arm lengths away. Statuesque he was, poised in such a way that one could sense he was inquisitive, perhaps even bemused, even though his form was alien and rather featureless. "So this is their great sorceress," the wraith thought to himself.

Slowly, tactfully, he raised a hand. Emily did not burst into a fountain of blood, she did not have her soul ripped from her body, and was not slaughtered by her own shadow nor choked by near invisible fingers of unholy smoke. Shaige possessed the ability to do any of those things, at least on most mortals, but instead he had chosen to spare Ifrit's life. The beast quickly faded away, becoming transparent before translucent and finally vanished. The Keeper had whisked the Infernal King's Scion back to the spirit realm, in much the same way as he had when the two first encountered one another. In his comatose-like state, Ifrit would be unmolested by the plane's resident dead.

===---_---===

Fangir's face wrinkled with hatred when he recognized the Klug's champion. No doubt his adversary recognized him as well; their tribes had warred since both their grandfathers had been infants. The archdruid fell to the ground in order to avoid his foe's unexpected attack. Rolling in the damp earth to escape the reach of the champion, Fangir spotted some briars stubbornly poking out from the mud, refusing to be buried. With a flick of his wrist, the archdruid manipulated the plant. The thorns wrapped around the Klug champion's foot, digging their thorns through his clothing as they struggled to keep him entangled for a few moments.

Scrambling back to his feet a short distance away, Fangir cast another spell. His hair turned a verdant green, the color of moss. His skin grew crass and darkened in color. His flesh was being magically transformed into solid wood. With oaken flesh, the archdruid would be slower, but also far more resilient. As the transformation rapidly occurred, Fangir spat. He said to the Klug champion, "My younger brother. He was burned alive, crushed beneath the rubble of his own home when the Easterners sacked my village. Your tribesmen rummaged through his charred bones, looking for plunder to take home from my burned village, from my fallen kin. I'll piss on your corpse!"

The Mutig chieftain's right hand grabbed a dagger from his side. The blade was chipped and crooked, looted from the body of one of the knights that sacked his village. The battered handle of the blade still had a worn engraving of a prayer to Caldor's might. The archdruid brandished that blade, ready to counterattack any moves from the champion, while his left hand began to glow. Beneath the mud, in the subsoil, were hundreds of small stones. If the Klug champion did not move quick and interrupt Fangir's spell, he would find himself pelted by dozens of small, sharp rocks that would burst out from the bog underfoot.

[KabenSaal]

Emily saw Ifrit fly from the rock face, and land hard, with his hide pelted with shards of rock. But, it stood. After all that, the creature stood. Emily was glad she had created the storm as a back up plan, but as it lurched towards her, it's body was covered in some oily substance, and Emily only knew it was Ifrit because he was the only massive monstrosity on the battlefield. The blooded beast tried to appear intimidating, but the shuddering of it's legs relatively ruined the effect. The shaking earth was a nice effect, and let Emily believe that her legs where feeling like jelly because of it.
'To much.....' she thought, having expended way to much of her power in a single battle. She doubted Empyrean would come without killing her now. Ifrit came close, growing and snarling and doing everything a ugly bugger like him should do, before the bolt of lightning arced from the ground, and smashed into Ifrit, taking the thing down for the count and permeating the air with the smell of charred flesh, blood and a nasty smoke. It was this influx of smells that tipped the bucket her teleportation had started, and Emily threw up her stomach on the ground, bile for she needed no food, and a small part of a congealed red substance that might have once called itself blood, further proof she was at the edge of her limit. However, it was nothing anyone would really care about, except her. It was nice, in a way. She was still biologically human, unlike this hulking mess before her, but she always wasn't human. Far from human.

While staring at the creature, desire to finish it mixed with a lack of strength to do so, something else came into the sickening cauldron of senses. The very air above her seemed to, tremble. and a reek Emily could not place, except at the top of her list of 'worst smells ever' And then, she felt it. Eyes, so commanding even an exhausted, insane construct like herself could feel. It was said that Aeromancers could feel people's movement though the air, but Emily did not need any magic to know there was something behind her. It felt like he conflicted with the very ground it existed near. She turned, and found a rather modest thing, if she saw them in a field together, she would assume Ifrit was the Leader, and this man, cloaked in shadow as he was, mearly Ifrit's servant. But, with a raising of his hand, Ifrit vanished, and he remained. While not having much to him - and that god-aweful stench putting what little concentration Emily had left to the sword - he seemed inquisitive, so Emily mustered every inch of self she had, and cocked her head.
"You'll be the master then? The one who's power I can't comprehend. Impressive business with my light show" She said, swaying softly on the spot, and trying her best not to make her voice shake or stutter.

[The 42nd Gecko]

As Fangir, rolled and examined the field for an advantage, he might notice the Champion take a two short, slow steps, a bemused smile if he glanced upwards to see that. In his left hand, some sort of icy projectile beginning to coalesce. When the briars came up from the ground, the Champion stumbled, his smile faltering, and the projectile dissipating as his concentration broke. As Fangir raised his voice and his dagger, the Champion's visage was of fear, the rocks readied. They launched and...

Smile.

~~

Soran would hear the shattering of ice behind him, and the swish of projectiles. If he turned a bunch of shards of unmelting ice, a few of them, would be flying at him, and the Champion's figure, heavily shrouded identifiable only by his distinct silhouette, visible in the mist. Fangir was still nowhere to be seen.

~~

Fangir might have a chance to recognize what was really going on now, as the real Champion materialized out of the mist behind him and slammed a gauntlet into his now slowed flesh from behind, while the illusion veiled ice sculpture in front of him, designed to guide Fangir's attacks towards Soran, melted instantly away. The gauntlet, though unable to penetrate the oaken flesh, sent mystic ice flooding over his limbs to restrict Fangir's form and magic. The Champions form also began armoring itself in ice, as though he expected to whether an attack.

"Mmm... n'rather than seek vengeance on those responsible for blood, you sought vengeance on those responsible for stealin'. We've all got blood on our 'ands, aye?" The Champion whispered. "Speakin' o which, your buddy's about to have a bit more blood on his hands. I'm betting fireball. Also betting you burn quicker'n I.

The whole plan had been a misdirection or, as Gau and the Champion put it, a "draw card". While maintain the mist field of illusions to isolate Soran and Fangir from the outside battle, the Champion didn't have enough raw power left over to also fight Fangir and Soran both. So, the illusions would serve him by making Soran and Fangir fight.

[Cyclone]

Soran, who had thus far been stumbling through through the mist stubbornly trying to reach where he had seen Shaige, was suddenly barraged with a hail of ice. The projectiles tumbled to the ground, having done nothing save annoy. The construct spun to see a silhouette in the mist, though it clearly not Fangir. This was one of the Klug, trying to get his attention. Toying with him. Surely the imp's master could wait a few seconds longer for his loyal minion to incinerate this fool.

While a powerful fireball no doubt would have been enough to melt any human to tallow, it would also take several seconds to conjure. It was too easy to dodge. Too predictable. So the demonic general's mouth opened, and he loosed a blood-curdling, feral roar. Clouds of infernal smoke billowed out, the choking sulfurous haze filling the lungs of any who breathed it in. Twice as thick as the champion's magically conjured mist, no light penetrated the construct's breath. However, his thunderous footsteps would be enough to reveal that he was charging to find his attacker.

With both Fangir's metamorphosed, oaken form and the champion unrecognizable, the demon would probably not hesitate to attack the first one of the two that he saw, or both of them.

===---_---===

The moment that the champion smiled, Fangir saw through his trickery - but alas, too late to dodge the blow that struck him from behind. "The murderers died screaming," the archdruid grunted as he reached backward to grab at the champion's hair, finding his effort already slightly impaired from the sheet of magical ice that was rapidly encasing his torso. Still, Fangir's iron grip managed to close around something. The chieftain heaved as he attempted throw the champion over his shoulder and into the mud, where he would proceed to stab the man a hundred times with the dagger he still clutched in his right hand.

Then, an even thicker smog enveloped the two. It was black as the soot from a furnace, and stiflingly hot. The smoke sank down into Fangir's lungs. His internal organs had been partially hardened like his flesh, but he still more animal than plant and so susceptible to an extent. The archdruid wheezed and coughed more forcibly than he ever had before, though only sawdust flew from his mouth. Whether Fangir had successfully thrown his enemy or not he did not know, as he was now on his knees struggling to recover. The champion would likely be hacking up blood, equally debilitated.

===---_---===

Slowly, menacingly, Shaige began to walk towards the sorceress before him. She looked exhausted, weak. Her attempt to appear strong failed utterly, the wraith perceived her as utterly powerless. In response to her questions, one word would echo in her mind, rasped in an alien and almost bored tone. "Indeed," Shaige answered telepathically. She had not grovelled for mercy as most in her position seemed to do, and so the wraith saw her as defiant. She had dared to challenge his might with her false sun, then attempted to slay Ifrit. And here she now stood, still stubbornly refusing to submit to his power.

The Keeper gave in to his sadistic whims. As he stepped closer, he willed the souls of three nearby fallen Klug to wriggle free from their bodies. The wailing, ghostly souls were forced against their will to form a triangle in the air. Shaige raised a hand once again and the souls vanished. In their place appeared a rift, a portal straight to the underworld. A frigid wind blew out. Demonic claws, their flesh blue and covered in hoarfrost, reached out of the portal to accept Shaige's offering.

With one more step the wraith closed the distance between himself and Emily. His skeletal hand reached for her throat, ready to throw her to the demon reaching through the portal. Dragged into Kokytos, the infernal realm of ice home to the fearsome frost demons, she would meet a near certain death. Her best hope of salvation would be to escape the wraith's grasp before fighting or fleeing. Alternatively she could try to plead for mercy, though Shaige had already made his decision and would be hard to placate.

[KabenSaal]

Emily laughed, a soft, playfully mad chuckle that had no place in the battlefield, nor facing something like Shaige. The word, echoing in her mind, sounded nearly bored. But, if he was stronger than that Ifrit thing, then he would be bored with this world. The odd thing was, he spoke telepathically, rather than actually speaking, and madness drove Emily to comment.
"Do you have a squeaky voice that undermines your authority or something?" Then, as he stepped closer, a thing opened in the sky, and....something stretched out of it.Clawed hands and blue skin, it didn't seem like something Emily would want to get to know. But how could she fight when she could barely stand?
"Heh" Emily commented, as if trying and falling to make a sarcastic comment, before the hand closed around her neck, and lifted her up.
'would have thought I'd at least get one before I died' Emily thought to herself, resigning herself to whatever this monster wanted to do. Being in there, might be fun though.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

The new construct had been finished long ago, but Viktor had been forced to have it wait outside until repairs on the wall had been finished. The beast was his largest yet, almost matching the Keepers own stature. About as tall as five men, and three times as much across, a first glance might have the monster be mistaken for a lonesome brick wall, three feet thick. Any attentive look would reveal the glowing runes inscribed, and the pulsating flesh that spilled out, dripping out from holes in the wall, and cracks in the brick. Various appendages and features stuck out from these patches of meat. Glowing eyes, mouths brimming with razor sharp teeth, and arms anywhere from normal size, to twenty feet long, each with a varying number of joints, each bending in a sickening way. The back of the terrifying structure was lined with vulnerable flesh, and dozens of organs. Countless tiny bone legs lined the base of the creature, giving it the painfully slow locomotion that it had.

Despite this new constructs considerably massive size, in comparison to the average men, Viktor had held back in the scale of this beast. With no real way to get large creatures out of the laboratory, he had to make sure it could fit through the broken wall, which he did, perfectly. The beast let out brutal wails, a thousand voices screaming at once. It wasn't a fan of the cold, it appeared. Perhaps Viktor cared, even just a slight bit, for the discomfort of his newest child, there was no time. If Viktor were to keep the element of surprise on his side, the attack on Altearx would need to be mounted quickly.

But still, his army was small, and it would take no small amounts of ingenuity to lead his army to victory against the considerable might of their icy fortress. But still, like any others, they would fall before his might, just like those before, and any else who found themselves in his path. The Keeper then turned his attention to his minions, eagerly awaiting his next orders. The wall had been rebuilt, and the walls continued down fifteen feet beneath him, leaving only his work area, the bridge to said work area, and the pedestal upon which the meteor rested. Even as they worked, the destructive magic had been slowly eating away at the pillar, driving it deeper and deeper down into the depths. Orders flowing directly into the minds of the poor husks, they began work again, making the Oubliette go down far deeper. With none distracted now, fixing up the walls, the process would go much farther. Viktor was glad for the lesser intelligence of these souls. Otherwise, they may have noticed that they were not building a way back up from the dark depths. In addition to making the pit deeper, he was having them build a large tunnel, in order to move his more massive creations out into the battle.

Viktor personally focused on more important matters. While some of his arms moved furiously, stitching together more of his Broken bBeasts, his mind wandered, other arms drawing up blueprints, and making small scale bursts of magic. While experimenting, he threw an off glance at the meteor. Ever since he had denied the help, he had regretted it. Whatever it was, it was powerful. Perhaps he would later speak again with it. That got him thinking. Why had he kept the thing? He had told himself that it was for experimentation, but he couldn't really believe that. Otherwise, he certainly would've used it in his creations. Angry with himself for not knowing the answers, he diverted his focus from the alien object. He wouldn't look back there for a long while, that was a fact.

Status

Next Two Levels of Oubliette: 0/8

Compendium Update:
The Wall Of Flesh-
A massive wall of stone brick, enchanted with runes to be especially protective against magical assault. Five men tall, and fifteen across, the wall can protect many soldiers behind it's warm grasp. Pulsating flesh spills out from the gaps in stone, with hundred of eyes mouths and ears as well. Though it lets out many primal screams, it is smart enough to order around troops, as it speaks directly into their minds.

Location: His Dungeon, North-West of Altearx
Dungeon: A small stone castle, armed with a summoning room, barracks, Heart, and small Oubliette
Minions: 2 Imps, 15 Humanoid husks, 31 Ogres, 76 Skeletons, 101 Minotaurs, 5 Walking Ballistae, 26 Broken Beasts, Stamrad, The Patchwork Man, and the Wall of Flesh
Resources: Seemingly endless supply of stone, large amounts of steel. The village was equipped with a couple of farms which feed the army. He has a large pile of assorted organs, bones, and other various body parts, as well as exactly 76 skulls.

[Lugubrious]

The night wore on.

Clotho knew her victory over the human hero should have afforded her more satisfaction than this. She had just beaten and corrupted the only being capable of keeping Virens from her, hadn't she? Yet, she felt empty. As she sat in the highest chamber of the King of the Forest, watching the cocoon that comprised her heart pulse lethargically with a warm orange glow, she did not at all feel satisfied.

Her head was propped up by her left hand, while the right rested on the hilt of her rapier, whose tip currently lay embedded in the paper floor. The weapon's material, an organic alloy of chitin and carbon, tough as the finest steel, gleamed in the pulsating light. Wasn't this all she'd ever wanted? To be in control, to have the power, to be able to control and take the lives of others?

Looking for answers, she dispatched an order to her waiting servant, a runty Myrmidon that -for lack of ability to fight- carried out her more mundane wishes. She didn't watch it as it scuttled off, only continuing to massage her forehead. This action helped the ache there very little; the chitinous shell there prevented any sort of pressure from reaching her brain. Giving up, she pushed herself to her feet and strode across the floor to a wall. With one talon she ripped a hole in it, revealing the night sky and letting in a cool breeze. As she thought, she stared at the stars.

A scuffle from behind her indicated that her requested guest had arrived. Two Myrmidon guards escorted in the former heroine. Even if her tail and pincers hadn't been bound, the Scorrow would still find walking a chore. The idea of coming to grips with her monstrous lower half was appalling to whatever pride she had left, but ignoring it clearly wasn't working either. The Scorrow was therefore in a sorry state when she was presented before the Swarm Keeper. She was the image of a broken bird: her blonde hair hung in ragged clumps, her skin was sickly and pale, and even her barbed, venomous tail drooped in melancholy.

“Leave us.”

Without a sound, the sentries left. Clotho and her enemy were left alone in her sanctum. Slowly, the Swarm Keeper turned around. She beheld the helpless hatred and depression etched on her captive's face. When Clotho had first inflicted this upon her, it had felt so good. A proud, powerful foe had been brought low, changed into the very thing she had set out to destroy. However, Clotho was beginning to see fault in her own reasoning. By poising the heroine and transfiguring her body, she had brought her down to 'her level'. Did she then subconsciously think of herself as a monster, as something low and vile? It wasn't a thought that had occurred to her before. Until recently, she had been the rebel, fighting back against the oppressors and heaping justice upon them. In the eyes of the Scorrow, however, she saw herself pictured as a despot, a conquerer, a beast. Something to be hated and feared. All Nona had ever craved was love and acceptance; when offered the chance, she had seized power and control as well. Her dominion and creatures had given her that, but it wasn't earned.

It wasn't real.

Of course it is. You've worked for everything you have. Earning yourself a living is all you've ever done. They deserve this.

“Why am I here?”

Clotho was torn between the two voices. The one in her head, soothing and comforting, and that of the Scorrow who had just spoken, questioning the meaning of her continued existence. No doubt she expected to be tortured, perhaps further twisted. It was an idea, certainly. But first...

“I...brought you here,” Clotho began, choosing each word carefully. The presence in her head was muddling her thoughts somehow. “To ask you a question. Why did you attack me?”

The Scorrow decided that she might as well give her captor the answer she was looking for. “Because you're evil. All the pain you've caused, and all the suffering you can yet inflict. The city is starving. Flies are everywhere, disease is rampant. You're poisoning us from the inside out. You're a monster, and we have to get rid of monsters for the good of everyone.”

Clotho flinched. “No! You're wrong! I'm an opposing force. We are armies, nations at war! Warring factions always starve each other out, always cripple defenses, always engage the foe and kill! I haven't done anything a human wouldn't do. I might look like a monster, but I'm no different than you!”

Sensing an opportunity, the Scorrow decided to wait a little longer before begging for death. “No, you are wrong. There is all the difference. You play with your enemies, you extract their pain and feed on it until they're gone. That's why you haven't killed me. You want to enjoy my suffering. That's not what men do.” Her voice dwindled to a whisper. “That's what evil does.”

“...but evil never looks back at the path they've come and questions it. While we heroes believe that evil must be stopped, we must always give it a chance to turn itself around. You've done horrible things, but there's still hope. You must turn back now, or you'll always be a monster.”

-=-=-

Kill her she's poisoning your mind
I don't want to be evil. That wasn't my intention!
EVIL IS WHAT WE ARE IT IS OUR NATURE
Clotho's arm shot out, grabbing the Scorrow by the neck. The former heroine's arms feebly grasped at the Swarm Keeper's, still trying to save herself.
No! I am who I choose to be!
YOU ARE A DUNGEON KEEPER YOU ALWAYS WILL BE YOU SNIVELING WRECK YOU PUNY BITCH YOU WEAK-WILLED FLEA YOU WILL OBEY ME
Her fingers squeezed tighter. The Scorrow was choking. “Please...don't...prove me right...”
I will not submit to a voice in my head!

The Dungeon Heart left Clotho. She was suddenly standing in a white void. She was human again, a young woman, naked and alone. In front of her was a huge being, shades of green and yellow and black, four crab legs, five mandibles, and two clawed arms. Its gargantuan maw opened to scream.

I AM TIRED OF YOUR PATHETIC LIFE I AM AVAK IASCOR AND YOU WILL SUBMIT YOUR BODY AND SOUL TO ME IT IS WHY I CREATED YOU

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

A grim expression rested on Viktor's porcelain face. The time for war was upon him, and there was no time for joking around. His army stood at attention outside the gates, as he could see through the eyes of Stamrad, his most loyal and trusted minion. The army was terrifying, even in it's small numbers. Each armed with wickedly barbed weapons of steel, their flesh hard and calloused. Inscribed upon their heads, arms and chests was an emblem, painted in wicked red, probably blood. The symbol was a fist, raised in defiance of those who would dare stand in their way.

Viktor mentally reached out to the Steel General, a steady stream of orders flowing forth. As the words made their way into the mind of the general, he began shouting to the army. He yelled, voice confident. Some of the skeletons cheered, raising their spears, while the more primal beasts just stared. Stamrad put his hands to his face, rubbing the metal helmet. That got all of the creatures cheering, whooping and shouting, as they began charging, at least going the right way, with some direction from Stamrad. Viktor might have cracked a smile at the bloodlust of his army, but not at a time like this. No distractions. No slip ups. Just the blood of a thousand fools.

He then focused his attention on The Patchwork Man. The success of his mission would be crucial to victory. Having left hours earlier, he had almost reached the gates of Altearx. Cloaked in heavy wool and cloth, it was nigh impossible to tell him from any other hungry old beggar. One at each side, he was escorted by skeletons. Tough similarly disguised, they would have a much harder time passing for human, and were simply for protection on the trip over. As they approached the gates, the two clattering sacks of bone split off, Turing back to walk away. The Patchwork Man called back to them, having them wait for a moment. They spoke behind a rocky outcropping. As soon as they came out from behind, the people of Altearx would see them, and it would be very difficult to get through those gates without looking suspicious. So, after a moment of hushed whispering, they put their plan into effect.

With a swift stab of the spear, the Patchwork Mans arm was crippled, bleeding heavily. Making sure to keep his arm out and obvious, he began running towards the gates, hobbling as he did so. The more weak and pathetic he could make himself look, the better. Then, out came the skeletons. Having ditched their disguises, they ran out in full terrifying form, spears raised. One threw the wicked barb of steel, planting it just behind the running figure. As the patchwork man ran, he stumbled to the ground. Quickly recovering, he resumed running, now with a rock in his hands. In a show of fear,mand to prove he wasn't with the monsters, The Patchwork Man flung the stone backwards. There was a loud ringing as the skeleton clutched his helmet, reeling back.

This pursuit carried on for about a minute more, before they were within range of an intervention. The air hissed, and both skeletons fell to the ground, bones shattering into a pathetic pile. In the center of each, a massive arrow stuck out. The Patchwork man, slowed his pace, looking at the aftermath. So far, so good. When the cloaked man reached the gates, they began rolling up. Instead of a seemingly warm welcome, as hoped for, soldiers spilled out, armed with their various weapons. A man with gilded armor stepped forward, shining like the sun did, once. He looked at the man briefly, before turning his gaze to the dead monsters far behind before speaking.

"Men. Lower your goddamned weapons." He said, sheathing his sword. The men begrudgingly obeyed, and there was a prolonged sound of cloaking metal as weapons were stowed away. "I humbly apologize for the hostility, sir. You've clearly been through a lot. If you would follow us, we can find you a nice place to get some rest, put some warm food in your belly. Then, when you're ready, we can speak, and I'll get you back on your way." He said, smiling broadly. The dozen men turned in unison, and began marching out into the city, past a thousand more armed men. More likely than not, the military outnumbered the actual citizens in the city.

'Perfect...' Thought the Patchwork Man, following the soldiers, hunched over. 'Now, if I can just get a map...' The plans ran through his mind. Get a map. Find the barracks. Cripple the military. Of course, he wouldn't be able to get them all at once, many would be on duty, but he could wait until day. Kill off the night shift, which would be substantially larger. Smaller raids, orchestrated by Stamrad in the dark of night had made sure of that.

As they walked, they neared a group of large statues, dominating the area. The Patchwork man didn't even need to ask of the statues. The man in gilded armor fell back, and began speaking. "These are The Champions. A group of legendary fighters, who saved the land from sure destruction. After a good nights rest, you will be told the full story, should you like it. But now, I can tell that you've been through a lot. Behind the statues was a large building. Only two stories tall, but wide enough to house thousands of men. Just before the door was another statue. No- not a statue. A massive skull, lizard-like. Sticking out from the forehead was a sword, much larger than a normal man could heft.

"These are our main barracks. The smaller four buildings around that you saw were the other barracks. Though we have plenty of men in the others, we have almost twice as many in here." Almost immediately after he said it, he was hit on the back of the head by another of the soldiers. Though not as high up as the man in golden armor, he was certainly higher than the rest. The new man politely smiled at The Patchwork Man.

"Please excuse us for a moment, sir." He said, before pulling away his most valuable source of information. "Tulo. You're too trusting of these outsiders. Hospitality, I can understand that. But you- you just told him what he needs to take out our whole bloody army!" He said, loudly and forcefully enough to be heard by anyone nearby.

"This is why the Chamber of Incintricity kicked you out. You're not trusting enough. After the Century of Isolation, we decided to open up our hearth to those in need. Not to assume every man we meet is an enemy. Please. This one time, let me open up to this man, and prove to you- to everyone, that we can have some blind trust." Tulo said, placing a hand on the other mans shoulder. "Not for me, Chavro. For all of us. If we open up to the world, then we can only expand." Chavro looked at Tulo, staring angrily. He shrugged off the hand, before lowering his head in resignation.

"Fine. He's all yours. We'll greet him with open arms. But if and when your little project turns on us, and our people. That's on your shoulders. One slip up, and you'll be down in the coal mines, where you belong." Chavro said, violently waving his finger in Tulo's face, before stalking away, very chuffed. Tulo stared as the man walked away, shaking his head. The troops followed Chavro away, going to a more extravagant building far behind the main barracks. The grimace on Tulo's face melted away, replaced with a grin.

"Alright. Well, you won't be staying here in the main barracks, but because we're having some problems with housing, we're going to have to put you in 'The Guardians Barracks'." Tulo said, pointing to the nearest barracks, just to the right of the Main Barracks entrance. Taking the Patchwork Man by the shoulder, he was guided to a small room. Cozy, with a fine looking bed, and a beautiful mural on the wall. It appeared to depict a battle, between five unnamed heroes, and a terrifying beast. The Patchwork man smiled, glad his plan had come to such fruition. Laying down on the bed, he drifted off, ignoring the piping hot bowl of porridge next to him.

--=--

Meanwhile, Viktor's army approached the city, led by the monstrous Wall of Flesh. Stamrad laughed, as the walls of the fortress appeared on the horizon. As long as the army kept a tight formation, and moved quickly, they could take cover behind a large plateau of rock. It was a strategically foolish move on the part of Altearx to have not removed the cover long ago. But as they approached closer, Stamrad panicked, having the forces turn their tail, and run away.

Atop the plateau was a watchtower, that, by some miracle, hadn't seen them yet. There was no hope to hide now. They were too far from any cover. In a furious charge, Stamrad ran to the tower, moving as swiftly as he could. It took him far too long to reach the tower, and every second he took, prayed to Viktor that he would make it in time.

He couldn't clearly see any steps or ladders up to the tower, and Stamrad knew that no time could be wasted finding them. So, Stamrad disregarded his sense, and pulled out his sword as he got closer. He let his sword arm drag behind as he ran, dirt flying up from his feet. In a moment of pure adrenaline and clarity, Stamrad swung his arm hard, releasing the sword. It was at that moment that both Viktor and the guard saw him. The guard stared down, confused. The armor was that of his own people, but it seemed ancient. When he saw it throw a sword at him, he was too dumbfounded to move.

Viktor growled. The thinking was quick, and the plan was solid. Up until the part where he threw the sword. Though Viktor was incapable of entering the battlefield of his own devices, he had a strong enough connection to his army to still lend a hand. Focusing his power, he channeled magic into Starmad, improving his aim, strength, agility- anything to make this gambit turn out in his own favor.

The shot was one in a million. All of the odds stacked against Stamrad in this one moment. He saw the event in a slowed view, his magical heart pounding. The guard reached for his warning horn- but it was futile. By some miracle, somehow, it happened. Spinning wildly through the air, the blade sunk deep into... The wooden wall of the guard tower. Though not the expected result, the guard fainted, fear in his eyes as he crumpled to the ground. Stamrad shrugged, now taking his sweet time to climb up the tower.

Upon reaching the top, Stamrad saw that the man was still out cold. Rather casually, he stepped over the man, his foot crushing the mans windpipe. Stamrad sighed, slumping down into a chair set up in the tower. Groaning, he pulled his sword from the wall, the blade now dented slightly. This is where he would wait until Viktor gave him the signal, when he could charge the fortress.

[The 42nd Gecko]

"The murderers died screaming,"

"Then ya made da right decision. Wanna know when ya made da wrong one?" The Champion, momentarily distracted by the conversation, was caught off guard and the grab landed, a fistful of the Champion's short curly hair being ensnared.

The throw failed, the Archdruid not expecting the Champion to have affixed them together with ice. But the first wild swing of the dagger nearly caught the Champion off guard, and only the ice armor he was summoning prevented the Champion's blood from spilling the ground. The second wild swing, the Champion was prepared for, and swung his free arm underneath the elbow, to lock the joint in a pose that resembled a half nelson, if one applied it too far down the arm. Normally, this would be silly and easily escaped, but it prevented further dagger attacks, and this gauntlet quickly began spreading ice over the Archdruid, doubling the rate of spreading. Presuming the Archdruid hadn't been expecting this and had some defense prepared, of course.

"Ya think we da first tribes ta live here, ya think we da last? Naah, man. Lots a'blood soaks dis ground. But dere's da truth of it. Da dead forget de blood. De blood goes away when they's nobody ta remember. But dat... thing, ya've allied with.. He don't let da dead forget. Da blood's not gonna go away. Da dead gonna keep rememberin' cause he want's em too. He wants da blood. He wants da whole world a'drownin. My people gonna die, just same'z yours, but I don't want da world to drown for dem. I 'xpect'd an archdruid'd now more bout da circle of life."

The Champion got early warning of the smog, feeling his mist pushed aside. Letting go of that spell, he sealed his armor over his mouth, and used his earlier trick of transmuting water into its component parts to make semi-breathable air, sending the hydrogen away while keeping some of the oxygen.

The mist around them would soon part, but it would last a little while without maintenance. But the Champion wouldn't be able to use his illusions again until he took up the the spell once more.

Soran would come upon a strange scene, to be sure.

[Cyclone]

Fangir grew increasingly desperate as his throw had failed, even though he had ripped the hair out of his assailant's scalp. The champion rambled about something, though the archdruid was no longer listening, and hardly would have been able to respond what with Soran's breath choking him. As Fangir began wildly stabbing backwards, he felt the blade jam into something hard, presumably a rib. Triumph washed over him, though the feeling was short lived. He suddenly found that arm being encased in ice similar to his back.

Heaving violently as his lungs struggled to free themselves of the demonic smoke and largely immobilized, Fangir simply collapsed into the muddy ground face-forwards, dragging the champion down on top of his due to the ice that attached the two. His time was running out, he knew. His face buried in mud and the smoke above impossible to breathe anyways, it was only a matter of time before he would suffocate, assuming that the champion didn't kill him first. Still, he might as well try to drag the damned Klug warlord down to hell with him.

He concentrated, willing with all his might that all the dirt and stone within ten yard fling itself into the air, before falling back down to bury the two beneath a few tons of earth. The ground began to twitch, slowly warping, and then all hell broke loose. Soran had arrived, and upon spotting some bestial-looking Klug looking at something on the ground, he cupped both his hands together. With the champion distracted by Fangir, Soran was able to take a few moments to conjure a fireball. The thing was small, hardly bigger than a head, but within it was an inordinate amount of energy. The construct prepared to hurl the projectile. So much as a glancing blow would make the fireball explode with enough force to blow apart a statue. Even beneath the champion and shielded by the very mud and ice that trapped him, Fangir would probably be incinerated along with his enemy if the fireball struck its target.

===---_---===

Emily would receive no response from Shaige. With a featureless face and a partially incorporeal body, physical speech was impossible. His magic was potent enough to manipulate the air around him to form words, as he had done minutes ago before obliterating the false sun, but such magic inevitably took a considerable toll. The Keeper was not about to waste his energy communicating with the wretch before him, and nor did he have any desire to restore a telepathic link and be forced to suffer seeing the woman's accursed thoughts.

So it was in silence that he grabbed her by the neck and suspended her a few feet above the ground, his ghostly body showing no signs of strain from the physical activity. Then, with a forceful throw he sent the rogue being flying towards the portal. The icy claws caught her, mere contact from them being enough to numb flesh. The demon reaching through the portal dragged Emily into the frigid hell that was Kokytos, and then the rift closed. Satisfied that he had condemned her to a horrible death, either as a sacrifice for use in some infernal magic, or worse, as a slave, Shaige turned to see the temple.

The last ragged remnants of the Klug that had tried to defend the temple were now being surrounded on all sides by a horde of flying pain elementals. The zealots, having hacked their way through the army that had been retreating from them, were now free to march up to the temple. With a telepathic command, the Keeper ordered the pain elementals to stay outside of the temple. Otherwise, they would have been more than content to relieve themselves by inflicting torturous deaths on all the Klug cowering inside.