Markon hovered behind Ha looking at what he was looking at. He had let himself in moments before the dwarf had seen his way to the land of death. No mortal would see him since he had left his avatar. Only the angel and Ha could.
"You could have turned the tiny mortal into an axe of great wonder. You know dwarf bone is strong enough. Instead you turned him into an example all the mortals should know by now." He casually bantered. Markon sat in the air with his right leg crossed onto his other bent knee.
"Its been a little time since Ive come here. Still cozy." He joked. "Ive come to ask a favour my brother. Ask your price afterwards and Ill see to it, but I want you to create something for me..."
Meanwhile, Achilon had finished his mission. The poor residence of Bermong town were mostly killed in their sleep by their ancient ancestors. The few who were still awake fought bravely. Soon their families and friends awoke from eternal slumber and they too partook in the massacre of their kin.
All the while Achilon felt nothing. The mortal soul he had was gone and a new immortal void had taken residence. He wasn't dead though. He still had emotion but which kinds he didn't know, yet. He left three children alive that night to tell the tale. First he cut off the tips of there right index finger and left the units by random graves like he had done many times before. His calling card. When he was finally done he marched his undead army threw the night till it became morning and hid his damned army in the forest. Any travellers passing by were very unlucky that day. When nightfall melted across the sky the undead resumed their march until they had arrived at the gates of that terrible fortress he started his journey from.
Inside a council had formed. The fortress was not the capitol city, but was the old ancestral home of the Lythea. It was known as Morin Fort after the first Lythean noble Mori Lythea. Melor Lythea -the king- was ill according to his warden, the nobleman of the west, Arktis Belin and he was to over see the council himself. Two other human nobles sat around the table while two orcish chieftain sat beside them.
The six ancient sovereign had joined forces in the first era and were united by the dragon lords they flew on. The dragons had allowed them to sit on there backs and fly among gods in a time only sung in legend. They fought beside the dragons till the end. The dragons had thirteen vassals. All but six perished near the end of the second era.
"That is Malors wish. We all know the ogres are a problem. But if we can take down the ogre king or at least make it come to our terms we may be rid of them. They stand no chance to our combined forces. Like I said that is not our kings wish. He wants us to make them come to our side. So we will either make the king understand or we kill him and enslave them. Imagine the work they can provide in the mines. The power we will have out on the battlefield. Each duke sitting here with a personal monster to defend us. You have already been informed by our king himself about the necromancer. With an army of undead, our own troops AND ogres at our disposal we will have a formidable army to push the boarders of our neighbors." Arktis told his fellow council members. They looked to each other for a moment in silence. The orc chieftain Nu'Growg slammed a fist onto the table and stood.
"We will reclaim the glory of our once legendary Kingdom and the glory of our fallen kings once more!" He roared! The others stood and cried out the same. United they pushed their seats away moved to gather their resources from their own realms. On there way out an envoy from the gate arrived.
"My lord, Achilon has arrived." He said never once looking the nobleman in the face.
"Tell him we have made the far courtyard ready for his... army and that he may meet me here. Then we will await the king and his orders. Send Achilon in right away..."