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The loud rainy battlefield was a gory mess as it circumferenced the disturbing flesh born spire that jutted aggressively from the charred and beaten ground. Three hundred and thirty three minotaurs fought a cumbersome fight as a wave of chitin bodied tharntin rushed them from all sides. The ominous breeze from the hollow of the spires entrance blew a sickly blast of acrid stench into the Harnians steaming nostrils as their massive weapons beat and crushed the razor sharp raptors who lunged with hopes of tearing their jugulars and rendering their flesh with their hungry fangs and blood soaked claws. The sight was disturbing as many black veined Harnian minotaurs littered the ground with neither a living breath or the chill of death, but despite this grim future, the Harnins fought with increased vigor multiplied by each fallen warrior and fed with an adrenaline thrilled rage at the demise of each thartin devil. 

	One of the minotaurs who stood closest to the entrance, Freg Gerntef, a young warrior scholar fought with impressive morale as his mighty warhammer dug its spike into the bone finned head of one of the reptilian like thartin. Fregs eyes were glossed over with infamous harnian rage as his pupils dilated and shrunk repeatedly, and his own musky breath asserted itself over the stench of flesh. 

The mighty warrior kicked out with his hefty hoof and split open the thick chitin shell of one of the devils, and a sludge like substance gushed out as the creature shrieked and fell to the dirty ground. With one final stomp, Fregs hoof dug into the open wound and into something squishy, ending the vile demons life. 

Freg turned to face his comrades only to realize that with his ambitious haste of battle he had accidently fought his own way deeper into the enemy horde than he would have liked, putting about a stones throw between him and his companions. Luckily the thartin rushed around him more often than faced him, as they seemed more interested in the bulk of the minotaur army. 

“ [i] An interesting coincidence [/i]” Freg pondered. This group mentality of the thartin had proposed another advantage for Freg, as he soon realized when he looked back at the poorly guarded entrance to the great fleshy spire.

The lone minotaur turned back to the group and spotted a extremely large and familiar minotaur who had just cleaved a charging tharntin in half with a lucky downward stroke of pure muscle with a heavy and long cleaver fit for a giant. 

	“Gortag!” Freg called out deeply over the cacophony of those not lucky enough to fend of the thartin, along with the mind piercing screams of the vile beast.

	“Freg!” Gortag bellowed back, hefting his massive cleaver into another enemy, barely stumbling out of the way of a mist of venom that erupted from the devil. 

	“Gortag!” Freg yelled again, quickly sidestepping a leaping thartin and returning the attack with a quick thrashing of a warhammer. 

Freg turned back to Gortag and focused on the giant muscled minotaur, “Gortag! I’m going-” 
Suddenly the thartin jumped back from its thrashing with its arms hanging off its body on broken bones and loose attachments of chitinous skin.

	“Yortorg!” Freg cursed through his teeth as he quickly swung his hammer frantically in surprise. The toothed flat of the hammer connected against the side of the beasts head with a loud crack, sending the thartin back to the body part littered ground.

	“I’m going in to get the high king!” Freg finally yelled in a hoarse and tired voice before kicking the ground with his cinder block like hooves and began a suicidal dash for the spire. Freg foolishly closed his eyes as they started to water from the sprint and the whirlwind wind that was breathed with hate from the spires opening. The world became black behind his closed lids as his hooves pounded the ground and fallen body alike.

	“Freg?” Gortag the Large said as he watched perplexed, “ FREG!”

	The calls of Gortag were blurred against the shrieks and shrills of the enemy as the wind howled angrily in his taurus ears, forcing him to lay them flat against his thick bull skull. This small act did not muffle the sounds effectively and harsh screaming pounded Fregs head as his first hoof met the squishy entrance of the evil den. There were powerful yells behind the scholar and as he opened his eyes he was struck aback by the cavernous atrium he had rushed into, where a dozen of lifeless eyes scanned him closely.

His fingers trembled as he gripped his hammer at the ready, this was it, Freg kept thinking to himself. Curiously Freg noticed the thartin has not rushed from their rocky and flesh covered holes to meet him yet. The minotaur turned to gaze at what he had left behind in the battlefield, only to witness the entire thartin horde charging to get back into the spire, leaving the army of Harnians to charge behind them in retaliation. 

Suddenly it happened, the brooding thartin sprang from their homes and bared sawed teeth and claw as they charged the long Freg. The first to reach him was met with a powerful swing to the jaw from his hammer, the second suffered a similar fate, but the third, fourth, and fifth jumped him at the same time. Freg groaned in pain as their knife like claws dug into his flesh and ripped his muscle, and only after a shallow bite was he able to knock them off. With quick and angry swings, Freg began to work the thartin into a paste with his mouth wide open, screaming curses at the shrieking monsters. By time Freg finished his onslaught the other thartin had fled, and he himself was drenched in the blood of the dead, the sick salty taste poisoning his taste buds with a foul taste. 

Freg could hear behind him that the minotaur army intercepted the once charging thartin and resumed their own strife. With his back safe, Freg decided to keep pushing in. Suddenly Freg’s advance was cut short by a deep trembling and vibration shooting from the ground. 

With a mighty roar a dark figure erupted from down the dark halls that lead into the atrium. The beastly hulk stood three times Fregs own giant posture and was many times thicker in muscle and plated skin. The beast had horns much like Fregs, only twisted with thorns and matched with blazing eyes that bore down from a massive bull head.

Freg knew at once that he was staring at once was the High King, he knew by the large shimmering axe that was loosely gripped in the mighty monsters bone knuckled fist.

“Tundir Tinkinharn…” Freg muttered, frozen in his spot as the monster continued its charge, its very hooves cracking the ground with a mighty force. Suddenly Fregs usual ambition rushed back into his head and he swallowed his fear, along with the blood of the thartin. 

Freg charged the beast, and the two quickly came upon each other. However, instead of connecting, Freg launched his hammer at the beast and quickly dove horn first between the sprinting trunks of legs of the massive abomination. The spike of the hammer dug deeply into the confused monstrosities hand, causing it to howl in anger as it dropped the High Kings axe onto a pile of blackened corpses.

With renewed rage, what once was the high king charged once more, and Freg was
quick to match it again. Once more, Freg dove between the monsters gap and this time rolled towards the dropped axe. The magic relic sputtered as its usual magic properties suffered and refused to blossom in such a corrupted place. Freg grunted at it and ripped it from the pile of corpses and began his own rush at the once more charging monstrosity. This time the beast smashed its path with its hooves and massive hammer like fists, nothing was spared from the crashing thrashes as the beast approached the charging Freg at a high speed.

	The axe sputtered more in Fregs hand, but this time it suddenly bursted into a glorious and bright fire, engulfing both the entire weapon and Freg alike in the divine flame. With a shout of glory Freg pushed off of the ground in a mighty heft and leaped into the air with the High Kings axe in a blazing arch. He continued his shaking roar as he soon was face to face with the beast, and his burning axe dug itself deep into the high kings skull, the magical force and flames tearing it apart in an explosive effort as the entire atrium was lit up with a bright flash. 

	Angry screams and shrieks of thousands upon thousands of unearthly voices flooded and rampaged in Fregs pounding head as he stood victoriously drenched in wet gore on top of the ripped apart corpse of what once was his king and with all his energy and rage, Freg yelled back. 

	The half human Silini pushed and pulled on the thrashing Freg, as the old Harnian attacked his bed with increasing vigor. Finally the brown haired woman slapped the boney cheek of the aging bull and his dark eyes shot open.

	“What, what,” Freg exclaimed as his hand grabbed the shaft of his mighty magical axe that laid beside him.

	“Father, you were having your dreams again,” The human-esque woman explained as she put her soothing palm on Fregs hairy cheek, “Of the past.”

	Fregs wild eyes calmed at her words and he took her soft hand from his face and gripped it tightly with his own rough fist. 

	“You insist on calling me father after all these years,” Freg said roughly as he motioned for water.

	Silini lifted a wooden mug to Freg and looked at him intently with her human face, her dazzling eyes boring into his own, “to think you would be used to it now, it has been a couple decades.”

	“I am not used to being old inside my own body, let alone to cope with anyone elses aging,” Freg did what Silini has grown to assume what was the rare minotaur version of a smirk and smiled back at him, “Come, Grotag and Jernkin are awaiting their aging friend.”

	She stood up, and though she was tall in human terms, she was quite short in the eyes of a minotaur and Freg soon towered over his adoptive daughter and scanned his all too familiar study. The stone walled room was cooler than the rest of the mighty fortress it was found in, just how Freg liked it. He had one window, but it only was touched by the sun as it set, and heavy blinds were cast loosely over the glass. The bulk of his study was littered with loose pages and open books, as well as blotches of ink stains and spilt drinks. It was as one would expect a bulls personal study to look like, except for what was centered on his mighty oaken desk that was pushed up against one of the far walls; The Codex Anathema, or The D’sastr as the gilded title on the front cover suggested, was lightly placed on the desk, its dark binding worn and yet carefully taken care of, as leaflets stuck out from its leather cover, notes that are prepared to eventually be written into actual pages for Fregs grand work. This thick and heavy book was a size fit for a minotaur, and in it was every secret Freg had ever uncovered about the Darthlukian, the demons he was so keen to fighting and the very same force that had tainted his King he had slain years ago.

“Father!” Silini broke Fregs thought as he stared thoughtfully at his masterpiece that he commonly claims will only be completed when he begins to write a final chapter he already eagerly titled for whenever the occasion presents itself “The Fall of the Darkness”

	“Father!” Silini interrupted his thought again to which was trailed off from the first interruption.

	“What, what?” Freg asked with a slight annoyance, common among his kind, and all too familiar to the more serene Silini.

	“Grotag and Jernkin?” Silini reminded him with an impatient tone.

	Freg rubbed his eyes as he remembered why he had stood up in the first place, “Ah, yes, let’s go.” 

	Outside the fortress was a grassy field that surrounded the dark looming structure on all sides and then itself was surrounded by a thick wall and then further, a deep moat that is fed by a local stream. The land surrounding that was settled thickly by minotaur refugees from the dark wars but also commonly settled by native Caadori humans who have grown to enjoy the tales and heroisms of the minotaurs. There was a certain comfort in knowing that the utmost border of the country was being protected by the very same minotaurs who would risk hoof and horn to defeat any further advances by the demonic armies.

 Freg’s friends, the other two heros of the Old Dead God of the long lost minotaur homeland, sat conversing on a stone bench overlooking a young human woman working on fixing a rotted rope for the well.

Grotag was quite the older minotaur and his sitting posture showed it quite clearly long with his black hairs becoming grizzled more and more with silver as his days go by. His body is still the largest and most muscular one of the Harnians, and he prides himself in at least being younger than Freg. The massive Harnian sat with his trusty cleaver as he observed the young woman with a fixed gaze. 

 Jernkin, the youngest of the three old heroes, sat beside him scratching his thick brown chin hair, and stared at the woman in question with a different gaze of confusion. 

“Nope, I don’t see it,” Jernkin said as he turned his head to the large Grotag. 

“What, really?” Grotag said in disbelief, “She’s gorgeous!”

Indeed the woman was, with shapely hips and a pretty nose that poked out from quite the alluring face, which in turn lead to a slender milky skinned neck. However pretty she was, she would normally be deemed much too tiny and frail for a minotaur.

“Shes absolutely stunning!” Grotag insisted with his hand motioning to her, who could now clearly hear the arguement. 

	“I don’t know, Grotag,” Jernkin said with a shrug of his massive shoulders, “She’s too, eh, petite.”

	Jernkin paused and the two friends stared each other down, their gaze intensifying as seconds passed. Suddenly the two bursted out in laughter and the stare was diffused.

“You’re fascination with human women had always intrigued me,” Jernkin offered.

“And your fear of closed spaces and mazes always made me laugh,” Grotag said with a devilish look.

“Don’t go there, Grotag, labyrinths are damned frightening, and you know it.” Jernkin pointed an accusatory finger at the large Harn, which was met with a mere grunt.

“Yortorgs,” Freg jested as he suddenly stood behind the bench with Silini.

“Damned old bull,” Grotag said as he turned to Freg, “Your steps have gotten quiet with age.”

	“I fear it is just your arguments that have gotten louder,” Freg replied without a change in expression. A sharp intolerable pain stabbed at Freg in the back of his mind, and his wincing left eye showed it clearly.

	“News of Darmckin?” Freg asked quickly, as to distract his mind from growing whispers that clouded his thoughts.

	“He is still at headquarters with the young Hernk last I heard,” Jernkin replied, “Hopefully his little politics with the northerner go smoothly and quick, I would much rather prefer rushing into battle against what we have pledged our tails to than sit here and listen to Grotag mush over a woman,” Jernkin rubbed the stub where his tail once hung.

“Agreed,” Freg said as he glanced at Grotag, whose attention was split between the conversation and the woman who now was almost done with the well.

“But you know the humans and their meetings and politics, they live for the stuff,” Jernkin said with a hint of defeat.

“I actually might have the cure for your lust,” Freg announced, “An expedition into the dark lands.”

“Did you run this by General Frederick yet?” Asked Silini who was equally as taken back by the announcement.

All at once the three minotaurs stared at Silini and grunted loudly through their nostrils.

“So, no,” Silini concluded. 

[hider=Things to know] 

- This takes place on the border of Caador and the dark lands in the Horns of Harnia base, Harnias Keep.

- Darmckin and Hernk are in Ma'Hurcazak awaiting the council at Harnias headquarters "New Harnia"

- Word will now spread of Freg Gerntefs possible expedition

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