[center][h1]Paganea Circle Garden[/h1]
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The Circle Garden of Paganea stood grand and proud. Or rather, sad and pathetic, but grand to the Dark Elves who had learned to accept their sick nature the way it was. In the surrounding buildings, nobles entertained themselves with words and music played by slaves, derived of their bright futures simply to play the same repetitive tunes. 
  In the center garden of Castle Paganea, the Eight Circle Leaders sat on differently ornated thrones arranged to form a cone, from a single Dark Elf in black armor who proudly stood several feet before them on orange grass in a meek puddle that reached his ankles. One throne was made of crooked wood, with black leaves hanging from small twigs and orange mushrooms cracking their way through wood. The second throne was crafted into the shape of black feathers. The third one had patterns that mimicked expressed faces of pain and regret. The fourth, who was sat on by one of the only two women in the room, was made from two horribly disfigured bodies, that were skinned and stuffed to create a chair that could hold the woman comfortably. The fifth one was black, with patterns of raging waves. The sixth, the second woman in the room, simply sat in thin air. And the sixth one, the only Werebear in the room, sat on a red chair with wooden charms and totems protruding from it.
  The Leader of Circle Aeius spoke first. 
  "Arrak, Child of the Pagan."
  Arrak kneeled in the murky puddle, looking down.
  "You have completed your training" Each of the Circle Leaders said at once.
  "You have expressed not love for nature, but will to survive it. You have prayed for no blessings, yet let your fate into her own hands," said Willoke, King of Circle Sporebeard.
  "You have remained ever watchful of the Paganlands borders. Not a single hound, beast, or man has entered our woods without your watch," said Corvus, Lord of Circle Aeius.
  "You have not denied your pain. Instead, you used it to hone your ability," said Neuropa, Duke of Circle Revus.
  "In an endless abyss of torment, you have saught out few bastions which could deliver you from such, however short a time it may have been," said Haara, Queen of Circle Slah'na.
  "You became one with your trauma, melding it, allowing it to become you," said Toros, King of circle Meron.
  "..." Sayla, Lady of Circle Hidden Princess, remained silent.
  "This world that has hurt you so terribly has felt the pain it has caused you. For that, you have my acceptance," said Lycor, Chief of Circle Loth'Gar.
  "For all of your trials, you have proven yourself worthy for title of General." Each Circle Leader said in unision. A Servant shuffled from a doorway left to the thrones, and placed a black helmet with yellow accents on the kneeling Arrak's head. 
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Arrak rose, and turned to leave through the massive doorway behind him. It led to a high balcony off the southern wall of Paganea, where on the battlements below, hundreds of thousands of soldiers stood beneath him at full attention. Thousands of Dark Elves, Lesser Pagans, Blights, and Werebears. Another servant came to Arrak holding a black case. Flicking it open, inside was a black sword with a red line across the blade. Arrak hesitated as he reached for it. Instead of grabbing and raising it proudly, as almost a hundred generals have done before him, he grasped it with a gauntleted hand, and threw it to the side. Instead, he waved his hand in a circular motion, and the space around his hand warped, bringing a black sword with an entirely red blade.

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He raised that sword instead, and the crowd roared with approval. That night, thousands of soldiers from each city in the Paganland borderlands stormed across their western borders, slaughtering thousands of unaligned Beastmen. In just that one night, the Paganlands control had been expanded across dozens of miles of territory. Already, the forests would begin warping, becoming uninhabitable to any Beastmen that would attempt to reclaim the territory for several months while Dark Elves build new towns and cities.
 No longer would the Dark Elves be subject to defending the last of their territory, other than small village raids. Now, they would retake what was rightly theirs. Not Old Lombilar, not just the West, but the whole world would suffer the way they had for thousands of years.