The flat, grassy floodplains that surrounded Paterdomus and the rocky shores of the Suri river gave way to a vast expanse. Rolling hills blanketed by forest sprawled for leagues before finally giving way to the nigh impassible Hindrun mountains. The tall trees suffocated and darkened the ground in their shadows, giving a foreboding air to this last pocket of resistance to the Paterdomus' faith; the bastion and homeland of a half dozen tribes of pagan, idol-worshiping savages. After perhaps an hour, Shaige and Ifrit had traversed a distance that would have taken weeks for anyone traversing through the sea of cedars and firs on foot.

As the duo flew over the trees, they came across a small redoubt most hewn of stone. It was a small castle in comparison to most, but it still managed to look over the wilderness landscape. Watchmen stood in its towers and many a guard patrolled atop its walls, suggesting it had a garrison of a few hundred. Wooden spikes stuck out from the battlements, each one adorned with a severed head. The grisly sight was no doubt a means of scaring off any marauding tribesmen that managed to sneak past the surrounding outposts.

Continuing to go further into the wilderness, the duo later came across a few small wooden outposts and watchtowers manned by Paterdomans. These forward outposts served as lodging and supply stations for the crusader armies that went out on expeditions further into the forest. They, along with the stone redoubt further back, also served the purpose of repelling any barbarian invasion. The tribesmen had in the past frequently went on excursions out of their wretched forest and into Paterdomus' hinterlands, reaving the farms, murdering serfs, and taking away from the church's taxes. That, along with the tribes' heresy, was why the natives here found themselves victims of a crusade.

Not much more time passed before the ruins of the Mutig Tribe's village came into view. At long last, the last fires had died out and the sad plumes of smoke were gone. In their place, however, were bands of men sifting through the rubble. Shaige promptly decided to investigate, tugging Ifrit down with him. Shaige stopped and examined one of the men as he approached. He certainly was not one of the grim, pale Paterdomans. However, the Keeper was unable to discern if this was one of his Mutig tribesman, or just a deplorable looter come from an enemy tribe. The man shivered as he walked right through the ghost's invisible form without realizing it.

Shaige reached out to the mind of his construct, Soran. Though he was still only one step above a lowly imp, Soran was the only follower that had demonstrating unwavering loyalty and at least a hint of intelligence. The construct, upon sensing a reestablished mental link, said, [i]Master! Our deaf ears were incapable of hearing your whispers, and we lost contact for some time, as if you had simply vanished from this world. We feared for the worst, that you may have ran out of power and faded back into the void. It is good to sense your presence nearby, for much was accomplished during the tim-"[/i]

The Keeper quickly grew tired of his servant's ramblings and interrupted, [i]"Soran. Men walk amongst the ruins of the Mutig village. Did you or Fangir send them?"[/i]

As soon as Shaige sensed the answer in Soran's mind, he soared off to the nearby caves that his followers inhabited. Before Soran could even think 'no', Shaige continued [i]"Meet with Fangir. I have one small matter to attend to, and then I shall find the two of you. We must speak."[/i]

Shaige ducked into the ground rather than the hidden entrance, dragging Ifrit's ethereal form through a hundred feet of dirt and into a large, unused chamber. A winding tunnel infested with pain elementals separated this room from the rest of the underground city, ensuring that none of the imps or humans would interfere with what was about to happen. Shaige freed himself of the intangible tether that had connected him to Ifrit, and then shortened the thing before attaching it to a stalagmite. Ifrit would barely be able to move, but that was exactly what the Keeper wanted.

The very darkness in the air thickened itself into an ebony paint. Shaige painted an unholy pentagram around where Ifrit was now trapped. It had taken the souls of hundreds of the fallen for the Keeper to instantly turn the rogue being into a ghost, and it would have taken even more to bring back the creature into the physical world. Shaige did not have such resources on hand, and so he had to settle for this ritual. The pentagram on the floor would slowly siphon energy from the land and channel it into Ifrit, restoring his body. Over the course of a few days, the rogue being would be pulled completely back into the world of the living. Now, however, he would find himself seemingly abandoned by his master and left to rot in a room devoid of any light.

Shaige followed the aura emanated by Soran, heading through the walls and ground once more. There had been no time to explain what was happening to Ifrit, but that was no matter. The scion would surely be fine for a few days, and in the form of a ghost he would be unable to escape or wreak havoc in the underground city. Of course, that might happen once he was finally pulled into the physical world, but by then Shaige would hopefully have time to deal with his new minion.