[b]Mud blood[/b]

Hidden away a place unknown, too dark to see; A faint noise echoes throughout the cavern… the sound of screeches, hisses and taunts. A lone Slik retreats further into the cavern away from the chaos, clutching her spawn against her rough chest, she sways a bit, dizzy from the loss of blood. She dives under, submerging herself in the water, the cool touch of the water relaxes her briefly. The slik female not wanting to linger, kicks into motion and with a swoosh of her tail gently glides through the water with ease and proceeds to gain speed, faster and faster until she gained enough momentum and lunges out of the water, her limbs ache on the rock when she lands, shock horror stung her as she witnesses her doom inevitable. Faced with a cruel fate upon looking at a dead end, she loses hope and accepts her fate; she gets on her knees and waits…
A minute has passed or an hour, time is meaningless anymore all she knows is her time is up. A single sound continues to echo again, and again however the chaos and battle has long been over, this sound is a sad noise, the sound of tear hitting the hard cold floor of the cavern.

Sleek figurers silently and eerily emerge from the waters, a crude but cruel vicious bone blade is produced from the lead figure.

Nothing is said, the approaching slik with the dagger comes forth and pressed the blade against the female and slaughters her, the slik turns and with a grin announces to his comrades:

[i]“Sisters and brothers, the last of the bloodline usurpers have been slain, feast on these carcass and devour its spawn, Long live the king, long live Zantoria!”[/i]

[b]Zantoria[/b]

The king, Sthlyty, sits upon his throne of skulls and bones. Decorated highly with battle honours and scars, his bright purple and dark blues contrast against the waters around him, Sthlyty comparison to regular sliks thrice outmatch them, in size, muscle and furiosity, his bloodline is strong and been clearly successful . He sits confident with a large two handed serrated bone straight sword over his knees. The throne upon a mound of peddles, towers over everyone occupying the cavern. At the base of the mound Sthlyty blood brothers and honour guard stand looking fierce tooled up with vicious looking bone weaponry that keeps the common sliks at bay, while the king audits bureaucracy and tedious civil matters. Generally improving the infrastructure of his new kingdom, and ordering the smaller folk to expand Zantoria living space to deal with the influx of emigrating sliks coming from the smaller tribes and warlords to pledge loyalty to the new king and too obey the desire of centralised population for the greater good of the diminished sikitook tonrar.