Ifrit stayed silent through the rest of the flight, taking in his ethereal travel. This was certainly not what he had been used to in his days of glory, when he had his old heavy body. He felt his stomach churn as he was tossed from side to side, the invisible chain barely holding him to Shaige. He was terrified of what the consequences would be should they get separated. When they arrived in the small chamber, Ifrit moved to speak, but Shaige was gone before any conversation could be made. Ifrit struggled for a moment, before realizing that he was trapped there, his form still immaterial. He looked around, seeing nothing but darkness- it was as if he had never left his crypt in the first place. Still, Ifrit felt grateful- he was sure his master would come back soon to bring him into the land of the living soon, so he slumped down, accepting the endless darkness, letting it flood his mind. ----------------------------- After the initial confusion, it wasn't long before buisiness began booming once again in the small fishing town of Pracll. There was fish to sell and gold to get. Even though the town was nowhere near as big as some of the cities like Paterdomus or Altearx, the rickety wooden buildings were packed tight with an impressive population, and the countless small stores always had people milling around inside. Generally the town was a safe place- because of their trade with Altearx, the impressive military city kept them safe from threats that would approach from the south. However, they were on their own to defend from the Northern Giants, a tribe of arrogant savages. Though they attacked often, they were not much of a threat, mostly armed with little more than crude stone weapons. Today, Beru Bestal sat in a cold wooden chair, fishing through a small hole cut in the iced over lake. Though none of the many lakes around the village were massive, there were enough to supply their massive use and trade of the product. No one liked being posted at this particular lake, because it's supply was scarce enough to provide very little fish, and those who were posted there also were made to keep watch and alert the town, should savages attack, as the lake itself was dangerously close to some of the camps, and a common target when fishermen were there. Still, those posted there never argued- no one ever argued with The Guild. Beru had been staying in the small wooden house here for nearly a week without incident, so was more disappointed than anything else when he saw a few figures walking over the horizon, obviously headed towards him. it surely wasn't anyone from some of the civilized northern towns, the figures were large and bulky, as the savages always were. Without hesitation, he lit the signal fire, before running to grab the iron axe issued to defend himself until the reinforcements arrived. By the time he had blockaded himself in his home, he clearly saw the aggressors. As expected, a troop of about five dozen savages approached, each tall, muscular men, dressed in thick furs to protect from the cold of the tundra, headed by a man clad in deep red wolf skin, and an ivory skull crowning his long black hair. He loosely held a spear in his hands, bloodied and dented from years of killing. The group hollered and whooped as they ran up to the cabin, slamming against the doors and boarded up windows, shaking the shoddy shack. The leader pushed them all aside as he walked to the front door, calm and calculated. He was handed a crude axe by one of the many savage soldiers, and promptly began hacking at the wooden door. Within the cabin, Beru shook in his boots, holding a table against the door with all of his might, clearly terrified. The head savage left the axe buried in the door, turning to face one of his men who was screaming a bit louder than the rest. He frenzied gestured to a third party, who had approached unnoticed in the excitement they had brewed. Through the shiny white skull, the mans eyes galred at the transgressors, before giving a loud war cry, and pointing at the new threat. All but five of the savages rushed at the fresh meat, brandishing knives, spears, and fists, the others staying behind to break down the shack. As the first of the savages reached the troop of newly arriving soldiers, They were quickly cut down like wheat before a scythe. Those fortunate to be behind the first ten or so attackers were able to reel to a halt, and back up. They stared in fear at the aggressors- massive creatures of nightmare, skin seemingly patched together, standing among massive horned men, covered in hair, standing around a walking suit of armor. Though this strange party numbered only twenty-six, the barbarians were made short work of, bodies carelessly tossed into a wagon. Stamrad strode slowly to the six remaining, stopping just before the man draped in crimson, obviously a leader. "Your men are weak. Your kind are like children, blind to the truth. Today, you shall be given a second chance, one last hope to truly see the light of power. Lead us to your people, and join our ranks- your kind shall become stronger than you can imagine, no longer oppressed by your human limitations." Stamrad stated simply, reaching out his hand. "Get yer rusted gauntlet out of m' bloody face ye goddamn monster." The leader said gruffly, spitting as he stabbed at the enchanted armor. Predicting such a petty move, Stamrad leaned to the side, easily evading the wild attack. With a quick swing of his sword, he lobbed the mans head off unceremoniously, using the momentum to spin, lodging the blade into the side of another savage. Leaving it there, he turned to kick down one of the others, while he simply stood there, awestruck. By the time Viktor had pulled his sword out of the muscled man, the others had been finished off by two minotaurs who had stepped forward. Stamrad laughed at the pathetic attempt at resistance, before turning to walk away, as the bodies were loaded onto the wagon. As he walked, Stamrads boot ploughed down on the decapitated head, crushing it without a second thought as he walked, not breaking his pace. their grim procession carried on, following the messy path left by the savages, a nice path back to their camp. Looking back over his shoulder, Stamrad saw he had left not a moment too soon, a platoon of men could be seen approaching from Praclll, probably responding to the signal fire. ------------------- Meanwhile, Viktor looked down at the rather unimpressive creature before him. From a distance, it could be mistaken for a normal man, and could pull off a disguise rather well, provided he was covered in a large enough cloak. The creature itself was simply made of cloth, patched together in the shape of a man. The head of this man had no actual features, save for a smile sewn on the front, and two flat glass eyes, showing nothing but darkness. Though there appeared to be nothing behind the eyes, they could light up with a magical fire, made to stun those it looked upon. The mans hands were made of iron, and had a strong grip, though all in all, the cloth dummy would be terrible in combat. The true purpose of the patchwork man was his torso- able to be split in two by a large zipper on the front. Though it would appear to open up to naught more than various mechanisms and organs, various enchantments allowed him to store far more than it would appear within the deep recesses of his stomach, to be called forth at a moments notice. Currently the man stored twenty minotaurs, twenty five skeletons, and ten ogres. This made him a wonderful weapon of sabotage, capable of sneaking into enemy encampments, and releasing an army from within their lines, rather than having to attack from any predictable direction. Viktor quickly sent the construct out to the barracks, where he would wait until further notice. As the dummy left, Viktor turned to his dwindling pile of organs, beginning more work. ------------------------------------- Far out in the tundra, a small fire burned in the center of a small gathering of tents. Around the fire, a few people gathered, simply nomads traveling. The laughed and talked loudly over a pot of freshly cooked stew, the scent wafting around the air. A low rumbling noise began to grow louder in their ears, the ground trembling ever so slightly. Two of the men stood up to investigate, concerned looks shadowing their faces. They picked up pieces of wood from the flame, using them as torches as they walked towards the sound. As the orange light danced and flickered across the cold ground, they soon found the source of the noise, and breathed sighs of relief. It was naught more than a stampeding herd of oxen, headed off away from the camp. Without hesitation, they made their way back, not wishing to linger outside the warm grasp of their fire for long. Little did they know, behind them crept a creature of far less friendly intention than the ox. As they walked, the small creature stayed a distance behind, as it limped below the sparse patches of grass. There he laid in wait, watching as the group of people slowly began to tire, and enter their tents. By sunrise the next morning, only one heart was beating in the entire camp. The bodies laid where they had been killed, necks mercifully slit in their sleep. There had been no mess, and no fuss, save for a couple of the humans, who laid with their flesh ripped from their bones. The creature had needed food and shelter for the night- it wasn't his fault that they were able to provide both. Though the creature knew he had to move on, he lingered for quite some time, resting his weary body, still broken and battered, bruises covering his pale skin. He stared up at the red sky, the one thing that had kept him going and alive all this time, before grudgingly lifting his malnourished body up, to continue his tiring journey. [hider=Status] [b]5th Minion[/b] 9/21 [b]Location:[/b] His Dungeon, North-West of Altearx [b]Dungeon:[/b] A small stone castle, armed with a summoning room, barracks, Heart, and prison. [b]Minions:[/b] 2 Imps, 9 Humanoid husks, 31 Ogres, 76 Skeletons, 101 Minotaurs, 5 Walking Ballistae, Stamrad, and The Patchwork Man [b]Resources:[/b] Seemingly endless supply of stone, large amounts of steel. The village was equipped with sa couple of farms which feed the army. He has a pile of assorted organs, bones, and other various body parts, as well as exactly 76 skulls. [b]Compendium Updates:[/b] Pracll- N59°, W01° A deceivingly small town. A massive population is cramped tight within the tight buildings that make up the town. It has a booming economy, based on fish. The town is based around a large cluster of smaller lakes, spread sporadically around. The town considers itself rather safe, protected by the military might of Altearx below, though they have had problems with savages from the north. The town is extremely traditional, and has very little to do with technology and magic, sticking to a small guard of citizens armed with simple steel weapons. The Righteous Guild of Industry and Commerce- Commonly called simply 'The Guild', this guild is based only in Pracll, and has an iron grip over the city. When it was founded, it brought the towns wealth, and none have been brave enough to oppose it. They keep the trade going strong, thus ensuring a steady flow of revenue. They care very little for those who do the dirty work. Though their decisions are often greedy, they will, more often than not, look out for the greater good, be it of the town, or of themselves. The Northern Giants- Once a tribe of proud warriors that ruled the lands, they have fallen behind the larger cities in the area of combat. Because of their nomadic ways, they have no way of keeping up with the military prowess of today. These men are tall and muscular, often towering above regular men, because of them having been bred to be only the strongest for the longest time. Though they no longer are a significant threat, those caught off guard can be devastated by their wild fury, sheer strength, and numbers. They have camps spread all over the northern tundra. The Patchwork Man- Viktors second construct, this creature is simply cloth draped over machinery and flesh, shaped like a man. Designed to blend with the normal masses, it wears a large brown cloak masking most of its features. In case of hostile confrontation, a great magical light can shine from his flat glass eyes, stunning aggressors momentarily. A large zipper crosses his chest, that can be opened to reveal his insides. He has been enchanted to be able to hold far more within those recesses than one might think. Currently, he holds within him: twenty minotaurs, twenty five skeletons, and ten ogres. [/hider]