Watching as the spider convoy had traversed its way down the faded wooden floor that lead from the eastern wing of the house with all the bedrooms into the western lands of where the living room, office and of course, the rodentfolk's home in the kitchen were. Guards where on high alert today, additional ratfolk had been called up after there was word that there was some sort of battle was happening in Q3 over the tower. Additional scouting reports and observations had confirmed that there was indeed a battle, quite a brutal one as well with the victors executing the losers by throwing them over the edge it seemed, all done by the bloodied hand of the Tatos none the less.

Eternia had seen its fair share of Tatos, the humanoid little men clad in plastic plate with a hatred anything that wasn't their own kind. Old stories even spoke of incidents where the Tatos had killed Hootins, their closest biological relatives, for being near those of other species. Nasty bunch they were, the lot of them little more than killers and savages in the eyes of the island. Their relations had always been poor even since the age where the first mice settlers came to the Great Home; the fact that the two had fought each other on an off wasn't helping the two races see eye to eye. Many grizzled veteran ratfolk wariros spoke of the sieges that the Tatos undertook against their fair city, how the wars were more brutal than anything else they had ever seen.

The occasional raider incursions were little more than heavy rain in comparison to the Tato's sieges. The wasteland that surrounded the isle is said to have almost come entirely from such battles; fire scorching the wood with great black streaks of soot and ash as even chemical weapons had been used. Made of soap, boraxo, bleach, detergent and whatever other vile substances the mice and rats had found, these substances had been brewed in bowls on the countertop of the isle, their repugnant fumes too noxious to be kept in the Nest City. Once these substances had been carefully stewed to lethal perfection, their unholy ichor had been gently scooped into little urns that were thrown over to the Tatos lines, already peppered by arrows and impaled with bolts.

It wasn't to say that the Tatos weren't capable of dealing damage to the forces of Eternia though. Their slow, primitively made catapults (in Eternia's eyes any ways), made up what they lacked in fire power with sheer destrutive ability; the massive balls of shot taking out entire sections of the great walls and instantly flattening squads of rodent warriors. Backed up by their devistating fire power, the savage brutes that the Tatos called their "army" crashed against the walls countless times; each man killed had another instantly fill their place, for each ladder the rodents pushed down, two more came up. The Tato tide was relentless as metal met plastic, soldiers shouting and roaring as they hacked, slashed, stabbed and salughtered each other until the walls rank red with blood. Bodies and limbs littered the ramparts and floor as warriors fell to blades and spears and arrows or even pushed off to their doom, bones landing with a sickeningly loud [i]crunch[/i] as they toppled from level to level, edge to edge. Never has there been more gruesome combat than those which had the Tatos arrive, the end result always looking like some sickening festival or gore and violence with blood painting the walls, gore strung up like decorations and limbs all over the place.

A series of gates opened as the spiders where welcomed in, guards quickly herding the convoy in in fear that someone might attempt to exploit the situation and rush in unwanted. A group of micefolk accompanied by armored ratfolk approached the caravan, the micefolk making small to the spiders as they discussed the travel through the tribes of Q6 and business. With the help of the guards, their ratfolk bodyguards used long blunted poles to poke at the cargo, probing it for contraband and whatnot, as if they had expected the spiders to betray their longstanding relationship to Eternia. But protocols where protocols, it was basically just formality at this point as they lazily jabbed the containers before giving the all clear to the mice.

Nodding, one of the mice disappeared and dashed up the system of stairs and bridged, out of sight until the gate into the Nest City proper. Welcoming their esteemed guests, the micefolk bowed before rushing off some place else to take care of some other urgent matter no doubt, leaving their guards with the convoy as they made their way through the labyrinth of a city. the central. The inside of the kitcen isle was vast and seemed nearly endless as christmas-light fire lanterns fueled by purified and refined grim and grease lit up the internals of the Isle of Eternia.

The entire place had a very strange vibe for newcomers, both appearing disorganized and rambshackled while feeling well planned and sturdily constructed. The spiders however had long gotten used to the feeling, the maze of paths and roads almost like a second home. Making their way to the central area of the city, one of the many weight-controlled elevators jerked its way down to roughly the same level the caravan was on. More mice appeared, yellow pieces of aged notebook paper in had as they calcuated the weight of the containers that were being put on the hanging pallet. Such math was directly responsible for the movement of proper weights to "power" the lifts, too much means that it could rush up at break neck speeds and too little means that could plunge into the undernest.

With the lot of their cargo removed and the mice finishing up their question about the weight of their goods, the spiders were led up more winding paths and levels to the one of the market areas, officially labelled "Market District 03". The way up had been cluttered with new supply dumps and barricades since the spider's last visit, no doubt a last line of defense should Eternia be once again besieged by the Tatos. Quickly clambering over the new obstacles, the arachnoids had little issue traversing the maze-like city up to Market District 03.

The market was bustling with tailed furballs of all shapes and sizes mucking about, receiving daily rations, bartering for bits of scrap, selling services, just another day at the markets. Once again, yet another official-looking mouse stood in front of the spider's normal location. Official record keeping stuff, and location taxes that were quickly paid by the caravan master who wished the little creature good day as she scurried off into the depths of the city. Now with their location set, the caravan began to split, the merchants and laborers working once reopening their spot and bracing the the onslaught of mice and rats who'd want a piece of their foreign goods and the guards found their way to the nearest taverns or whorehouses. The caravan master himself caught a lift down to one of the government buildings dedicated to trade, built out of an empty box of baking soda with plastic wrap windows letting in light to discuss the more official trades to be conducted.