[IC] Dungeon Keepers

[Cyclone]

Without warning, the outermost drawbridge crashed down. A horde of armed men surged out of the castle that was Paterdomus' cathedral, out into the massive paved plaza outside. Today was not a day of worship and the cathedral was strictly closed, and so the grand, flat esplanade amongst the inner city's towering buildings had been filled to the brim with market stalls and town criers. Immediately, the Temple Knights began ordering the merchants and farmers to immediately gather up their produce and take down thei tents and stands.

Not minutes after, a great plume of thick, black smoke began to rise from the cathedral's signal fire. The fire priests were burning timber coated in tar. Visible from miles away, this signaled to the entire city that they were to amass in the town square to be addressed by the theocracy. The Prophet walked out to the top of the cathedral's outermost wall. From atop the battlements, he watched as the plaza rapidly filled with throngs of people. There was no introduction or dramatic entrance, only a lone figure atop the wall, leaning over its edge to gaze down upon the crowd. There were thousands amassed in the square now, though with well over a million inhabitants, nowhere close to the full population could crowd into the square. The peasants brushed right up against one another, filling every possible space. Hundreds of elite Temple Knights held the masses back a respectable distance from the walls, and ensured order. Children sat upon the shoulders of their parents in an effort to see the lone figure standing atop the battlements.

The people were usually informed about the topic of discussion and time of meeting long beforehand, to the point that it was only a ceremony; a crowd of red-robed priests would come out to announce news that the people already had heard from the town criers. Now, they had no idea why they were so abruptly summoned or who the lone figure atop the walls could be. With only a small red cape draped over his shoulders, from down below the people did not even know that the Prophet was an Anointed of Caldor. It had been so long since he had appeared in public that they did not recognize their ruler.

With such little notice, the priest soon realized that no preparations had been made by his incompetent subordinates. The crowd was not going to be quieted down. With exasperation, the Prophet took the matter upon himself. He raised a fist, and every small brazier spaced across the battlements suddenly erupted into a column of crimson fire. The crowd was instantly shocked into a deathly silence. They now knew who wished to address them; there was only one fire priest capable of such a feat.

"People of Paterdomus!" the Prophet's coarse voice cried out. He spoke as loud as he could, yet his words were hardly heard by most of the crowd. The priest's voice was weak from disuse, as he scarcely made contact with any other living being. It was only an enormous sense of purpose, of duty, of Caldor's might, that kept him from melting into a stammering fool as he stood before such a gathering.

"Many of you have asked about the crimson sun," he continued, gesturing towards the sky. The other fire priests, seated behind their leader and out of sight of the crowd below, began to mutter to themselves. It had hardly taken the clergy more than an hour after the Source's transformation to address the people and prevent mass rioting and panic. The citizens had already been told that it was a sign from Caldor. There was nothing more to say. Was the prophet even aware of his own redundancy?

"...while rumors abound about a rogue necromancer ravaging the countryside, and about the barbarian tribes in the west slaying an entire legion of crusaders. I know that you also question what to make of the monster that attacked our walls not a fortnight ago, killing hundreds." The fire priests were now whispering amongst themselves. These issues had been answered in much the same way, with hardly any confirmation or acknowledgement, just a cryptic mentioning that it was Caldor's will and that the people should uphold their duties to the temple and remain faithful through troubling times. What was the prophet doing? One wrong word could throw the entire crowd into a panic and leave the city in turmoil, and it looked as if the theurgist was making up his speech as he went. Why had he not asked for a script to be prepared beforehand?

"Hear my words, for Caldor's Prophet tells only truths! The darkness closes in from all sides. We have too many reports to deny the existence of this necromancer. In my auguries, I have seen a darkness sweep across the forests to the west. The crusade is stymied. Soon those legions will find themselves on the defensive, fighting against horrors unimaginable. A darkness rises in both the east and the south. The vassals have been called. The armies are being assembled. We shall fight a war the likes of which have never been seen!"

At this point the fire priests were clamoring amongst themselves, not even bothering to keep their outrage to whispers anymore. At the same time that the fire priests openly contemplated dragging away their foolish leader and silencing him before he could say anything worse, the High Prophet had half a mind to incinerate the lot of them for their disrespect and distraction. Alas, neither made a move. The lesser priests knew that it was already too late, their crazed leader's words would undoubtedly cause a mass panic that would be impossible for even the most charismatic speaker to alleviate. Riots would follow. Productivity would suffer. Chaos would reign. Both sides were afraid to silence the other in front of such a large crowd, and so the fire priests sat just as mortified as the masses below, while the Prophet continued to preach.

"That will not be enough. No mere men could stand against what comes. Our legions are the mightiest in Elysium. Our people are Caldor's chosen, hardened by his flame and under his protection. And we would still be reduced to dust. Do you not see it?"

The Prophet continued, somehow finding the strength to strain his voice to be even louder. His doomsday speech was terrifying the people, who put unwavering trust in the clergy. It was only his unshakable manner and booming voice that had the crowd pacified in its grip. "That is why our sun is stained crimson. Caldor knows of our plight. The time has come! He is ready to return once more to Elysium. I shall devote every moment of my waking breath to performing the ancient rites. The Anointed of Caldor will finally perform their ultimate duty, and summon the dead god back into this plane!

Our patron god alone will stop certain death! He will return the vile necromancer and all his abominations to the blackened husks that they once were. The wretched forest to the west and all the heathens that people it will be reduced to ash. His brilliance will boil the wretched Suri river that the water priests cannot keep enchanted. And let our ancient enemies march on our city once again! None will stand before mighty Caldor!"

Those that could hear erupted into cheer. Within seconds the entire crowd was cheering. Their cries and jumping shook the city. The word of the Prophet was already beginning to spread like wildfire. The High Prophet raised an arm and concentrated. The dying signal fire, still burning atop the fire priest's black fire, suddenly turned into a blaze once more. From the flames burst a great fireball, though it was in the shape of a bird. The Prophet guided the flaming pheonix through the air, circling it above the crowd before slackening his arms and letting the fireball's shape fall apart. The pheonix basked the crowd below in Caldor's warmth as it died.

The High Prophet stepped back and returned to the cathedral, ordering the fire priests to devote all possible hands towards combing through the reliquaries. They needed every bit of information that could be found, if they were going to find a way to perform the mythical rite that would return Caldor. The fire priests that had accompanied their leader out simply gawked in silence. The prophet had surely gone mad.

--==_==--

William stumbled through the brush and instantly emerged from the dense forest into a ruined village. Keenly aware that he was in the open, the scout found cover behind a burned house. The smell of death and burned flesh hung in the air, forcing its way into the soldier's lungs. However, being one of the Knights of the Flame meant that he had smelled a fair deal of burned men and seen plenty of death, what with pyromancers present at every battle. That was actually fortunate in this moment, as it meant the man kept his breakfast despite the disgusting reek. The scout waited for many minutes, hearing nothing. Finally, with great trepidation, the scout came out from hiding and walked toward the middle of the village.

There were corpses strewn through the clearing, all brutalized. Torn into bits, burned, and crushed. They were fresh, perhaps breathing only a day ago. One of them had an intact amulet of an owl. The thing was carved of wood, and had tiny bits of amber for eyes. That was the clan symbol of the Klug tribe, not the Mutig. These were no doubt looters come to take whatever was left in their rival clan's razed village, presumably killed by some survivors of the Mutig tribe, or the missing army of crusaders that had been sent to sack this settlement. However, the horrendous manners in which the men had died, combined with the looks of utter terror plastered on their faces led the seasoned scout to believe that this couldn't have been the work of humans. Something else did this.

The scout walked through the village. On the outskirts opposite from where he had first emerged, he saw a few mounds of bodies, next to a newly made mass grave. It seemed as if these were old corpses, and Mutig. The Knights of the Flame had obviously piled up their fallen enemies and left them to rot, as they were wont to do, but the Mutig had returned to bury some of their deceased. They clearly hadn't finished in that endeavor, though. Perhaps they were still around, waiting in ambush for more Klug warbands. William told himself that such a notion was foolish; if they were all hiding here, they would have captured or killed him by now. Still, he wrapped his hand around the handle of his trusty dagger, just for comfort.

The scout circled around the village, looking for signs of where the crusader army might have gone. The rains had washed away footprints, yet the hundreds of knights had simply tramped through the forest for miles, marching to the assault that would be their doom. William easily saw their trail, and followed it. He saw signs of a struggle in the outskirts of the forest, near a clearing that had an isolated, rocky hill. Knowing that the army had been ordered to investigate rumors of a Mutig hideout in some place that matched this description, William quickly left. It was clear that the information had been correct: the crusaders had marched up expecting to find nothing or have an easy battle against a few starved barbarians, only to find themselves massacred to the last man.

As William returned to where the rest of his squad would be waiting for his report, he found himself lost in the dense forest. Not knowing what else to do, he climbed one of the massive trees in hopes of regaining his bearing. He immediately noticed the small clearing that was the meeting spot, and saw a few men standing around, their polished armor gleaming in the sun He had made it almost all the way back without realizing it! But something was wrong. A trail of smoke was wafting from between trees in the distance. A strange, bestial roar could be heard coming from within that direction. Whatever was out there was heading straight to the clearing, and swiftly. The scout was light on his feet and agile, but he knew that he would never make it back in time to warn them. The hardened soldier was paralyzed with thoughts of the mutilated Klug tribesmen that had been in the village. The scout remained hidden in the crest of that tree, watching in terror as the smoke rapidly closed in on his brothers in arms.

[BBeast]

Calvartem patiently waited for the Death Spire to be complete. While his undead self was ever patient, easily capable of long periods of inactivity, he was unsure about the patience of his new Rogue Being. He had not had the living within his ranks before, so he was uncertain as to how to deal with them. To complicate matters, this was no ordinary living being, for it was formed of obsidian and fire rather than flesh and blood, so he was uncertain of his nature. He waited the next couple of hours it took for the imps to put the last stones in place. Once the tower was complete he approached the side of it and began climbing up the stone rungs embedded into the wall. His movements were less than graceful, but to him that did not matter. Once on top of the tower, he laid his hands on the quartz rock and in a pulse of darkness it glowed blackly, indicating that it had been activated.

That task complete, Calvartem descended in much the same manner as he had climbed. In a wave of his staff his imps all faded from existence. He mounted on to Shadowmane and finally turned to address Conquest. "We return to my Dungeon now. There is much to be done, much to be conquered." With that Calvartem galloped south-bound, in the direction of his Dungeon. He doubted that Conquest would keep up if he went at full speed, unless he flew, but even then he was unsure whether that living being's endurance would be enough to match the incredible speed and endurance of the resurrected horse. He was sure not to let Conquest fall too far behind, at whatever pace he made.

Eventually they arrived at the Dungeon, although it hardly looked that part save for the Death Spire. There was no other modification to the infrastructure save for that tower. When Conquest had caught up, Calvartem said "My Dungeon Heart is situated within this town. Be sure to defend it from any invasion." Calvartem's speech was slightly hesitant, for he had not found it necessary to ever voice intentions to his subordinates before. He pointed his staff at the ground and 15 imps materialised. "These imps shall work on defences," he continued, "Now, I intend to conquer a port town to the east. That is, if you do not require rest."

[Cyclone]

The Carver wasted no time formulating a response to Zadok. Immediately it began analyzing the situation, something that took mere fractions of a second for the magic being's incomprehensibly quick mind. The Carver had two tremendous advantages. The first was the simple fact that the Ripper was preoccupied, attempting to simultaneously fight and pierce the Source's core. The second was that this put the Carver in a much more flexible position, free to move around and try to avoid attacks, whereas the Ripper was forced to encompass the Source's core at all times and continue breaking it down. Otherwise, what little damage had been done to the core would quickly repair itself.

However, the Ripper possessed an advantage as well. By encompassing the core where this universe's magic originated from, the being was fed an unending flow of more magic. What wasn't assimilated into the Ripper's form in order to rejuvenate it was corrupted into the crimson energy of destruction and then spewed out into the Source.

The Carver could similarly rejuvenate itself by absorbing magic from its surroundings and from the fabric of this universe itself. However, as time went on the local magic was becoming more and more corrupted. The Ripper's foul aura and energy of destruction was like smoke to the Carver, building up in his proverbial lungs, unable to leave quickly enough. This was slowly but surely crippling the normally indefatigable guardian. The Carver's nemesis was sure to be victorious if this battle continued to stretch on as it did.

So it was vital for the Carver to switch strategies. Clearly the duo's current attacks were ineffective, with the two simply hurtling small amounts of their magic into the other in an attempt to neutralize a larger portion of their foe's power. The Ripper had been stripped of all its holy duties and powers on Outremar's final day, leaving him with only the capacity to destroy. The Carver, however, could reshape and create nigh anything that existed in its domain, which happened to be this entire universe. Though to use such powers in battle was akin to sacrilege, failing to exploit this advantage would spell certain defeat.

The flying blasts of vernal magic abruptly ceased. The Carver concentrated, feeling the ebb and flow of this plane's energy, tracing the grains of its shape. The Ripper hurtled a wall of scarlet magic. The Carver remained still, letting the red light surge into and wash over him. The amount of damage one such burst could inflict was miniscule, at least to the Carver. At last, the guardian identified a soft spot, an easy place to sculpt at and break away. A brilliant light appeared as the Carver summoned its most holy magic. The brilliance coalesced into the shape of a divine, glowing, carving knife of massive proportions.

The tool flew forward at the speed of light, effortlessly pushing through the metallic, pressurized gas and plasma. The tool came into contact with the Ripper, and then it was met with resistance. It shook violently and slowed as it attempted to force its way through pure hatred and destruction, yet it succeeded. The tool had cleaved the Ripper in twain, separating a massive chunk of red magic from the main, spherical cloud of energy that was the Ripper.

The severed piece flew off in an arc, before meeting a volatile end. A thousand times as potent as the mere bursts that the Ripper was capable of emitting, this lifeblood of destruction exploded with a force that shook the Source and stirred up even more violent storms on the gas giant's surface. The ethereal Carver was unscathed, where any physical being would have been disintegrated by the sheer force.

The Ripper howled in pain. Ten thousand of the capricious voices cried out telepathically, and yet not one of them was legible. They shrieked, hissed, roared, and clawed at the mind of the Carver. The guardian tried to shield Zadok from this, but his efforts were largely in vain; the anti-keeper would be exposed as well, through the telepathic link. The guardian pulled back his knife and prepared to slice off another chunk from its adversary; that would be one step closer to silencing the Ripper and sparing this realm. The Ripper would have none of it.

Out of nowhere, thousands of them emerged. They split and replicated themselves, until there were millions. Billions. An infinite number of needles appeared, connected to the Ripper by tiny threads of vermillion. Once, when the Ripper was known as the Weaver, these needles created new things and stitched the very fabric of Outremar's universe. They had been akin to the Carver's knife. But now, the needles had threads of hate and destruction. They could weave no more; however, they could now gouge and cut.

Untold amounts of these needles wrapped themselves around the Carver, strangling the being with their threads of destruction and perforating the guardian with their infinitely sharp points. The Carver wildly swung his knife, not at the Ripper but at the threads that connected the needles to their vile master and controlled them. The implements vanished the moment that their threads were hacked away, but it was in vain. With naught more than a thought, the Ripper conjured millions more. They wrapped around the Carver's knife, wrenching it away and preventing it from being used as a weapon.

Before, the Ripper had merely been content to preoccupy the Carver. The entity had staved off the thing pestering it as if it had been a fly, by halfheartedly swatting at it every now and then. Now, the Ripper was enraged, and exercised no restraint. It would hold nothing back; breaching Elysium's core was not a priority so much as removing this insolent guardian from existence. More needles appeared. The Ripper drove them into its enemy, eviscerating and hooking the Carver. The guardian was helpless, unable to so much as move as the Ripper fired a massive beam of destructive energy. The Ripper intended to maintain the concentrated beam until the Carver exploded in a great flash and was but a memory.

Fortunately, a carving knife was not the only tool of an artisan. Weavers had only their needles and threads, but sculptors and carvers had chisels, knives, hammers, rasps, files, rubbing stones, and many other utensils in their repertoire. The Carver summoned its divine hammer and held it in place to block the beam. It works. The crimson light was met with the sheer brilliance of the divine hammer's head, and was reflected off into the gas giant's swirling clouds and whipping winds; however, the tool was not unscathed. Its white glow had been stained, and now it emanated a pallid pink. The Carver dared not bring it into contact with the adversary, for fear that the Ripper would corrupt and steal the hammer.

The Carver's other tools (the guardian shuddered at how the once-noble implements were now being degraded to mere weapons) would hardly be suitable. The Carver manipulated the hammer, swinging it wildly and too quickly for the Ripper to entangle it like the knife. There was still a small amount of uncorrupted magic in the vicinity. The Carver grasped at the playful eddy, distilling it into a more potent form. The lump of holy magic crystallized, becoming a physical object not unlike the Source's core. With a furious blow from the hammer, the asteroid sized chunk of magic was sent hurtling towards the Ripper. If such concentrated holy magic came into contact with the Ripper, the results would not be pretty.

The destructive entity no doubt knew that. The Ripper expended an inordinate amount of its own energy, visibly shrinking a small amount as it firing a beam of its own essence at the projectile. The ruinous magic and holy magic collided. The two repelled each other, and so the chunk of matter was sent flying backwards, with a small amount of the writhing, red magic stubbornly clinging to the surface. The Carver easily dodged the flying asteroid, and so the thing continued to fly unstopped. The Carver and the Ripper continued to fight with their battle with increasing intensity.

Some time elapsed. Zadok would likely be able to catch flickers of what was going on inside the Source, though the Carver's mind would simply be too quick and the scene too chaotic for the anti-keeper to discern much. At last, the fighting began to temporarily die down a bit as the two magical beings were both exhausted. They continued to battle, though they both tried to rejuvenate themselves for a short period of time before they inevitably resumed fighting with no quarter, even more vigorously than before. During this time, the Carver had an opportunity to communicate with Zadok. Since the anti-keeper had requested to stay informed and the guardian had not thought to deny that request immediately, the Carver was somewhat obligated to have a brief conversation.

"The fighting continues, though I believe the stalemate has been broken. Both I and this extra-dimensional demon have sustained injuries, though its are more grievous than mine. I will continue to press my advantage, though I can feel the enemy's fragmented mind at work. It is seeking to equalize us once more, and then gain the upper hand. However, I do not know how it might attempt to go about doing so."

As the Carver finished, Zadok might turn to see an object approaching at an alarming rate. It was the asteroid that the Carver had tried to throw at the Ripper, though by now it was hardly a crystalline ball of holy energy. The Ripper must have expended an even more enormous amount of energy deflecting it than the Carver had thought, as the thing now glowed carmine and cackled with destructive energy.

Zadok might have had a mind to intercept the object on its path and stop it, but any effort would be in vain. As it neared Zadok, the rather large asteroid suddenly and violently exploded. Dozens of shards were scattered in all directions. Most were just small pebbles or chunks of rock, yet there were several larger ones, their red surfaces covered in magical runes and the space around them illuminated with an ominous glow. These larger asteroids all flew towards Elysium at incredible speeds, propelled by sheer malevolence. They each contained a piece of the Ripper's essence and had a mind of their own.

As they made their descent towards the continent, the Destruction Catalysts adjusted their trajectories to seek out places of great magical power. One lonely one righted its path far from the others, heading towards the bleak, isolated tundra north of Altearx. A different one adjusted its angle to land in an equally remote, yet vastly different place, deep with the depths of the Oerwoud jungle. Further to the south, one was headed towards a black lake sitting amongst a sea of golden grasses. Three circled around each other as they soared over the Hindrun ranges, before all crashing down onto the shoreline. One fell into the great city of Paterdomus, and the other two in its close vicinity, near a village to the south where the dead walked, with the other crashing amidst a foreboding forest to the west. Many others fell down, scattered across the other far corners of Elysium.

[BBeast]

The people Paterdomus had barely returned to their homes and the High Prophet had only just descended below the cathedral when a burning red object roared through the sky and collided with the grand cathedral, blasting a hole through the roof and landing within, smashing the ornate tiled floor in the main atrium where it came to rest. The clergy and knights of Caldor hurried to the place where they had heard the great crash, and saw sitting on the floor a roughly hewn stone, about half a metre wide, inscribed with a couple of strange runes and glowing with a nasty red aura, a shade of red quite similar to that of the Source, and the aura cackled and cracked as if it were some kind of electrical storm. The priests were completely at loss as to what the strange stone might be, but they were not appreciate it having blasted a hole through their roof.

To inspect the alien artefact, the temple knights called for one of their squires to go look at it. Nervously, the young man approached the stone and peered at its irregular surfaces. "It looks very strange. The surface looks more crystal than stone," the squire eventually reported, "And these runes, they don't look like anything I've ever seen." He reached out his hand to run over it, but as soon as he touched the red surface he recoiled in pain. It felt like a burn, but it had not felt hot. Pain was not only present in his hand, but also in his mind, as some force powerful beyond his comprehension invaded his mind, probing for memories, especially recent ones. The presence departed his mind in just a few moments, but the squire was left a blubbering wreck from the psychic intrusion. The knights pulled him away, inspected the damage to his hand, which from such a short exposure seemed to be little more than a light burn, and noted how he had suddenly been turned useless. Reluctantly they escorted him to the water priests for healing.

The priests had assembled and were talking amongst themselves about what to do with this dangerous artefact. They noticed that the floor around it, despite them being confident that it was in better condition when it first landed, was fading, very slowly turning to fine dust. Suddenly a voice spoke within their heads. "I could help you destroy your enemies." It sounded as if several voices were speaking at once, not entirely in sync with each other. The priests were silenced, surprised and shocked that this object could speak. "Yes, destroy... Destroy the tribes. The necromancer. The shadow. The ice witches." The priests murmured amongst themselves. Who was this entity to think it could offer them this? The voice continued, "I sense a great power here. Feed me it. Let me draw from it, and I shall grant your armies enormous power."

The murmurings multiplied. This offer of power appealed to the war-going nature of the fire priests, even though many were not sure what this source of power was. However, a pious and older member of the Anointed stepped forwards and spoke aloud to the stone. "The great god Caldor is our strength! It is he who grants us power, not deals with some- some- whatever you are!" This statement drew approval and nodding from the crowd of priests and knights.

The stone was quiet for a moment before speaking again, whispering in to their minds. "Your god's strength is weak. It is I who wields the greatest power. It is I who turned your sun red. It is I who can destroy all."

"You blasphemous spirit!" the priest who had stepped forwards shouted. He pointed his hand forwards and in anger threw a bolt of fire so forceful it made a thunderclap as it was conjured. Such a mighty blow would normally be able to crack stone, but the strange rock in front of them was unscathed, it had merely rolled a metre away. Frustrated, the priest turned around and demanded, "Destroy that rock!" The crowd nodded, and dispersed as they went to find a way to do that.

First some of the temple knights returned with pickaxes and rock hammers. However, none of the strikes managed to put so much as a scratch in the stone, even with the knights' magically augmented strength. They persisted until the tools wore out or broke, which happened much, much faster than normal. Next someone suggested dropping it from a height, but someone else was quick to point out that if it had survived falling from the sky then no drop they could achieve could hope to damage it.

Then the priests decided to purge it with flame. Given the right method of casting, it was possible to engulf something in a fire which burned off spirit rather than fuel or flesh. Soulflame was very dangerous stuff, so it was rarely ever used, but now it seemed to be the only option. By the time they had made the necessary preparations the ground surrounding the stone no longer resembled the original tiled floor but was now comprised of very fine grey dust. With the sigils and holy candles in place on the floor and eight priests standing in a wide circle around the glowing stone, they summoned forth soulflame to cover the rock which had been bothering them. The sickly green fire twisted and crawled over the rock and would have jumped at the priests too if they had not put in place the controlling wards to keep it contained. The fire died as quickly as it appeared, apparently unable to burn anything, and the crackling red aura was still present, unchanged by all their efforts to snuff it out.

As the frustrated fire priests were cleaning up after their failed purge, two of the Disciples of Unda walked in to the atrium and looked at the stone. "I see you have a problem on your hands," one of the blue-robed priests commented.

"We are handling it quite fine," a fire priest replied arrogantly.

"I would beg to differ. We have watched your efforts, which despite being radical have done nothing." The water priest paused, then added, "The squire you sent us, the burns on his hands, those weren't real burns. It was as if his skin had partially died and been shaved off by a millstone, not as if his skin had been overheated. His mental problems seem consistent with a telepathic overload. We expect him to make a full recovery, given time. However, I would recommend that no one touch that stone, at least not with their bare hands, lest they receive worse injuries."

"Were you just here to point out the obvious, or did you have something actually helpful?" snapped another fire priest.

The second water priest nodded. "We met together to discuss what had happened here. We came to the conclusion that if you want to dispose of something that can not be destroyed, you place it where no one will ever find it. We have arranged for that stone to be taken by boat out to sea, where we shall cast it in to the depths."

"You think your water is so superior to our flame that it can deal with this unbreakable lump of rock?"

"It is Unda who delivers the life-giving rains and rivers. It is Unda who can call upon mighty floods. It is Unda who had reign in the seas. The fires of Caldor can not do everything. That is why they must work together."

Begrudgingly, the fire priests accepted the water priests' offer of help. A band of aquamancers entered and used a large amount of water to lift the stone off the ground and move it around without touching it. They brought it outside and loaded it on to a cart. After covering it with a cloth so as not to gain the attention of the public, the cart was dragged away by a horse. As the stone came close to the dock, however, its aura grew in intensity to the extent that the red pierced through the fabric covering it. In a matter of seconds the axle failed and snapped, dropping the cart to the ground, and the sheet which had been covering it was now threadbare. Once the cart was immobile, the glow subsided to its normal intensity. This was quite an embarrassing mishap for the water priests, but they did not let it stop them. They unhitched the horse and had it returned before they magically pulled water from the river to lift and float the broken cart the rest of the way to the boat that was waiting.

By the time the water priests had briefed the sailors on where they needed to go and how it was important not to touch the stone, a small crowd had gathered to watch the spectacle. One of the Disciples of Unda decided it was appropriate to give a short speech. "This unholy object here fell into our city just hours ago, and we can not let it remain here to taint our sacred streets. So by the power of Unda we shall rid our city of this object so it may be pure once more." This received a gentle applause from the crowd. The talking done, the sailors untied the ship from the dock and began to set off down the river towards the ocean. However, they had barely moved when the stone glowed brighter once more, causing the crew to back away from it. The destructive aura eroded a hole through the deck and dropped the stone below the deck. Tentatively, one of the sailors eventually took a look down the hole to inspect that damage, and what he saw was worse than he had expected. "Captain, we're taking on water! We're leaking." The aura had degraded the hull so that it was no longer water proof. Before anyone could get down there and attempt to amend the problem the hull appeared to pass some threshold of damage and it failed completely, allowing water to burst in. It took only a minute for the vessel to sink completely, forcing those who had been on board to swim back to the dock. Looking at the bubbling spot in the river where the ship and stone had sunk, the water priests were very unhappy at how this operation had failed so embarrassingly.

[Lugubrious]

From within her dream-state, nestled in the cocoon in her dungeon's heart, Clotho could feel a subtle, nagging sensation. Momentarily leaving her nearly-finished design, she cast around for the source of the energy. Though at first difficult to trace, the presence grew gradually more powerful, and finally she was able to identify it as above her and falling down. This was worrisome; part of the information that had been transferred to her consciousness when she was first stung and transformed into a Keeper detailed the circumstances of creating creatures. She knew that if she were roused from her dream-state in any way but waking up on her own, the feedback would be enough to kill her and decimate her dungeon as every trace of her power erupted into chaos.

Needless to say, that couldn't happen. Turning her focus back to her blueprint, she rushed to complete it. Her level-three minion was a somewhat anthropomorphized firefly. As tall as a boar and as wide as a hippopotamus, these creatures were formidable foes. When on the ground, little distinguished them from their mundane cousins, but when flying their abilities were far greater. Using a variety of specialized muscles in their four forearms, they could extend quadruple long chitin blades for melee combat. While their design, even rushed, enabled them to wield these natural weapons with speed and strength, their real power came from the chemicals in their bodies. Every inch of their exoskeletons was packed with the chemicals luciferin and luciferase, and when these creatures opened their pores and let oxygen in, the resulting reaction would cause their entire bodies to emit intense bioluminescence. This light could blind at close range, but its real usefulness would be the sacs in the fireflies' abdomens, which were made to mass-produce the caustic liquid and store it before launching globs of it. In short, the fireflies were armed with naturally-made, glowing acidic projectiles. With her schedule compromised, Clotho was forced to abandon many of the cosmetic adjustments she desired, but function was always priority over form.

Even with her rush, however, she wasn't in time. From the crimson sky above hurtled a runic stone, bathed in maleficent red energies. Without Clotho to organize any sort of defense, the magic meteor went unchallenged, and crashed into the crown of the King of the Forest. It ripped through branches, hive, and leaves alike, only stopping when it buried itself in the trunk with an impact that shook the whole dungeon. After that, the momentary chaos seemed, over, and despite the downfall of leaves and wood to the forest floor there didn't seem to be any lasting damage.

Once free of her entangling cocoon, Clotho sped to the impact sight. When she arrived, she found the stone lodged in the wood. However, it appeared that -despite the degree to which it was embedded- it might not be for long; judging by the deterioration of the bark around the stone, it had some sort of degenerative aura. Clotho, suspended in midair, remained motionless for a moment as she pondered how to deal with the problem. Around her, dozens of insects milled aimlessly, sharing in her anxiety but doing nothing helpful. On a whim, the Swarm Keeper extended a finger and pointed at the stone. The insects around her, spurred to action by her silent command, converged and flew straight at the smooth, glyph-inscribed surface. Upon impact, they dissolved into dust, their pitiful lives obliterated in an instant.

As she considered that, she was confronted by a voice in her head. This one was very distinct from the other; unlike the first, which sounded like an individual's, this one was a loose, unsynchronized hodgepodge of many. Though it did not frighten her, she was on alert nonetheless.

“I can give you what you want most,” it whispered. “You crave power and ownership, to make your mark on the world and rule it. With my help you will have unimaginable power.”

Clotho's response was abruptly cut off by that of the first voice, which contained some anger.

Back off, outsider. This one already has direction and borrowed power, courtesy of me.

The second voice, which Clotho judged was coming from -or at least being transmitted by- the otherworldly stone, replied scathingly. ”The power you hold is nothing, the remnant of a dead Keeper. If you want to conquer, to destroy, to dictate, swarm queen, you will feed me the stolen gem of the life mages.”

As suddenly as it had come, the voice was gone. By now the stone had eaten away at the wood so much that it lost its purchase in the trunk, and its weight slid it out of the hole it had created. Once more the artifact plummeted to earth, taking out anything in its path. It landed at the base of the tree, on the opposite side from the Myrmidon Den.

Left with more questions than answers, Clotho could do nothing but go about her business. In short order the Lambent Nest, a huge, roughly sphere-shaped hive hanging from the branches, was set up and the eggs of her first ten Lambent injected with growth hormone and left to mature. Of course Clotho wanted power, but to blindly agree to a dark deal was to invite disaster. Moreover, she decided to beware the voice in her head; if the stone's was telling the truth, the being she heard was an insidious Keeper from another age trying to manipulate her. Clotho felt besieged from all sides—-all she needed now was the hero from Virens to attack her Dungeon. Clotho sighed heavily, holding her head in her hands, and flew down to the forest floor to find her construct

Status

New creature: 8/8
Location: Dungeon
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An nearly complete, vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Bugs called Macula infest it, functioning as living security cameras and alarms. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Den. Living Foundry, Apothecary, Macula infestation, Antlion Colony, Compound of Eyes, Lambent Nest
Forces: 27 Drone Imps, 95 Myrmidons, Myrmidon Construct Invicta, 34 Antlions, 10 Lambents, Adjunct Baudrii, alchemist Rammel Vitreus, alchemical assistant Kayla Oakhurst

Compendium Entry
Lambent – large fireflies with a few human traits. Decently intelligent, strong, and fast, though their dark brown exoskeletons cannot sustain much damage. They wield natural blades extended from their first two pairs of legs. Their bodies are full of chemicals that react to produce intense light. This light can be used to disorient foes, but the chemicals are even more useful when stored in their abdomens for use as glowing, caustic projectiles to rain down on foes from above.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

As Stamrad approached the Dungeon once again, metal legs creaking beneath his weight, he breathed a sigh of relief- all had gone according to plan. The pile of bodies was impressive, certainly enough to fuel the machine of war that was his master. There had been minimal casualties, only one minotaur had been lost. Yes, things had been looking up for Stamrad ever since he got rid of that little gray pest of an imp, always stealing his glory and well deserved praise.

However, as they trudged across the cold hard tundra, he caught sight of some movement out of the corner of his eye. As he looked up, he saw a glowing object streaking towards the dungeon, shuddering in it's fiery descent. The foreign object rocketed with terrifying speed, smaller shards falling off as it sped towards it's target, drinking in the magic that emanated from the dungeon. Stamrad only barely managed to leap to the side to avoid a sharp shard of the red stone implanting itself in the ground where he stood moments ago. Fear filled his eyes as more of the shards rocketed down, destroying the very ground beneath him. The minotaurs carrying the bodies were scared just as much, and ran off in a frenzy. As they sped away, driven by animal instinct, the cart tipped and tilted wildly behind them, leaving a bread crumb trail of bodies and blood.

A deep look of sadness was on Stamrads face as he realized that he would have to clean that up, and began picking up the bloodied bodies.

---

Viktor looked down with pride at his creation, finished but moments ago. Skin and flesh carefully molded to create a beautifully sleek creature, seemingly days spent perfecting the monster. The creature was amazing, surpassing anything that he would ever be able to mould again. Out from the gaping maw of the creature spurted a gout a flame, hot enough to mar the hard stone it rested upon. Upon gaining it's bearings, it flapped it's wings, creating a gust of wind enough to knock a soldier to his knees. Yes, these terrifyingly powerful creatures would make a wonderful addition to his army. In truth, there was little short of a god that could stop these creatures- their speed and strength unmatched by anything on this world.

Viktor gently reached out a claw to grab the creature, move it somewhere safe to preserve this perfect blueprint. The creature slapped the hand away with it's poisonous claw. 'Master. I am surely capable of keeping myself safe.' The creature spoke, in a soothingly smooth voice. Viktor had nearly forgotten, the great intellect and mind reading capabilities that the creature had been imbued with. Yes, this could not be a more perfect soldier, nearly unkillable.

A great rumble filled the air, causing both Viktor and the new creature to look up. Bricks shattered down upon the two, the glowing meteor eating through the very stone as it landed on the new creature. Crushing a large percent of it's mass. A pathetic screech managed to escape the teeth of the creature, as it struggled to claw it's way out from beneath the destructive force, it's very skin flaking off as it was ripped apart. Viktor quickly reached out his metal appendages, tearing it out from beneath the massive stone, having to sever much of the creatures body to save the important parts.

As he hastily threw aside the mangled beast, once the image of perfection, he turned his attention to the trespassing object. He was intrigued by the runes scrawled across it's surface- He prided himself on his knowledge, and was surprised to find that he didn't even know where to start reading these. He raised a chisel in one mechanical arm, and began prodding at it, clearly the master of the scientific method. The chisel began rusting away as soon as it entered the crackling red aura that surrounded it. "Listen to me, Master of Machines. The war you wage on this world is weak. The mighty force of Altearx will stomp on your frail army like naught more than a pathetic insect. I can help you. Make your forces strong enough to defeat- no... destroy all who stand in your way."

Viktor stared at the runes, deep in thought, considering the offer. A deep metallic chuckle filled the air. "That's quite the proposition. Though you have peaked my curiosity, I believe that my answer is going to have to be 'no'. My army is, and will be more than powerful enough, and I don't need any strangers meddling in my business, no matter how... interesting an offer they pose. However, this vessel of yours shall prove itself useful. I would prefer you not attempt to communicate with us further."

---

The small gray creature continued its trek through the tundra, seeing the massive stone castle he was headed to. As he approached, he was met with a small chunk of glowing red gem, inscribed with a strange rune. "I can help you. Get revenge. Destroy the ones who betrayed you..." It spoke in a low voice, luring the creature closer. Once a very quick-talking beastie, the creature responded in a slow, calculated voice. "I'm listening."

Status

Nothing in progress

Location: His Dungeon, North-West of Altearx
Dungeon: A small stone castle, armed with a summoning room, barracks, Heart, and prison.
Minions: 2 Imps, 9 Humanoid husks, 31 Ogres, 76 Skeletons, 101 Minotaurs, 5 Walking Ballistae, 1 Broken Beast, Stamrad, and The Patchwork Man
Resources: Seemingly endless supply of stone, large amounts of steel. The village was equipped with a couple of farms which feed the army. He has a pile of assorted organs, bones, and other various body parts, as well as exactly 76 skulls.

Compendium Update:
Broken Beasts-
Once the perfect soldier, armed to the teeth, the blueprint was corrupted, leaving them grotesquely deformed. Seemingly just a mass of flesh, charred and burnt with skin calloused and scarred into a stone hard shield. Many bony limbs protrude out, capable of little more locomotion than flailing about angrily. They do keep many remnants of their previous selves in the new marred form. They are very flammable, though unable to control this. Their most noteworthy power is the venom that exudes from their claws and mouths. Imbued with the power from The Rippers meteor, this venom eats through most material, which allows the creatures to burrow through the ground unhindered. They fight by embedding themselves below their enemies feet, before jumping out in the midst of their ranks, flailing poisoned limbs about and causing chaos. Though they are not extremely intelligent by any standards, they are possibly the smartest of Viktors army, able to strategically lay themselves in the perfect position to ruin the enemies formation.

[Lugubrious]

Truthfully, Conquest had expected more of a lair from Calvartem than simply another town surrounded another Death Spire. Given the mystique of the necromancer, it had seemed only reasonable to assume that he'd have an appropriately fearful, dreary base to call his home. Still, the impostor was glad enough to have something else to see aside from smoldering timber and bland, grassy knolls. The hours that had trudged by while the minions his new 'master' created the black tower to consecrate his victory over the village had been nothing short of monstrous. Were he capable of crying, he may have been bored to tears.

After listening to Calvertem's brief instruction, Conquest pounced on the chance of action. “The only sustenance I need is destruction. While I'm sure floating around this town and raining fire on anyone I see would be entertaining, I would be only too glad to accompany you to this port town. I could even go it alone or with a few troops—I'm a capable leader.” Realizing an error, he rethought his statement. “Capable of leading more...mundane troops, at any rate. I expect your undead hordes will be less likely to follow fire than shadow.”

Conquest held a forearm up, inspecting it. Fierce orange flames shown from between the cracks in the glassy black stone that made up his corporeal form. “Your call.”

[BBeast]

Calvartem nodded in contemplation, then after a short pause he climbed back on to Shadowmane and gave his reply. "We go together to attack. My undead operate poorly without my direct intercession." He was about to ride off when he sensed something in the sky above him that gave him pause. Looking up, he spotted a glowing red point in the sky. It did not appear to be moving much, but when he looked at it for long enough he realised that it was getting closer. Moments later it became evident that it was moving very fast, as it struck down at the side wall of the crypt, the collision throwing rock and dust everywhere. Shadowmane, normally as calm and placid as a corpse, reared back from the burst.

When the dust settled, Calvartem saw the damage done. The object had landed just beside the crypt which contained his Heart, throwing aside dirt, and also smashing the near wall, blasting stone into the interior of the crypt. The object, a rock of some kind inscribed with a few strange runes, sat there, glowing with a cracking red aura. Already several of the shadowy imps had assembled to curiously peer at the object. Calvartem, on the back of Shadowmane, rode up to it as well, visibly annoyed at the damage made by this strange object but also inwardly fearful of where it had come from and why it had almost crushed his Heart.

"Don't just stand there, move it aside," Calvartem ordered the imps, "When you've done that you can fix the damage. Reinforce these walls too, so they are not as easily breached in future." A few of the imps drifted in over the ground to lift it, but as soon as they touched the aura they jumped back as if in pain and then refused the approach the object again. This act of disobedience angered the Necromancer, who raised his staff and with a blast of black fire disintegrated one of the imps' incorporeal forms. "I said move the rock, that is a direct command!"

Being unable to protest on account of being silent, the imps reluctantly and fearfully moved in again to move the rock, but as soon as they were able to get a grip on it and lift it their shadowy forms faded away, destroyed by the rock's aura. Disgruntled, Calvartem instead raised 10 walkers from the town and had them come over, for walkers had no capacity to disobey him. He made three of them lift the rock and try to carry it over, but as they worked their arms disintegrated to the point of being useless. This was of no concern, as Calvartem merely had then swap out with another walker. Unerringly loyal, and completely expendable. Eventually the artefact had been carried away from the Heart and placed aside in the middle of the road.

With the way clear the imps got to work on repairing the Heart, and now Calvartem merely had to figure out how to deal with this strange artefact. He dismounted from Shadowmane and walked closer to inspect it. He could see that dust was slowly accumulating on the ground around it, except that dust was made as the cobbles deteriorated rather than fall on it. The object also seemed to be made of some form of crystal rather than rock. But most importantly, Calvartem sensed great power emanating from the artefact. Then, without warning, it spoke to those present telepathically, mainly addressing Calvartem.

"I am here with a purpose. I have an offer, one which can bring destruction to any who might dare threaten you."

The voice speaking with-in his mind, which seemed to come from the stone, made a tempting offer. Calvartem had always worried about security, how if an army, even a small one, were to slip past it while he was away they could easily overrun his Dungeon, or any of his other towns. Aloud, he replied to the message. "Do elaborate."

"I can grant you greater strength so your magic can obliterate your foes. I can make it so your Dungeon itself will lash out at any who dare come close. All I need is a share of your strength."

Calvartem paced around the stone. "A share of my strength?"

"Allow me to feed from the excess power in your Heart. When you need your power, I shall let you have it and more."

This offer seemed very lucrative, but it also seemed dangerous. There was no way to tell if this entity would keep the bargain or turn on him. Calvartem decided that, since he had to resources, he would get a second opinion. He turned to Conquest and spoke, scouring his memory for the right words. "Man of flame, what is your... opinion of this entity? Trustworthy, or treacherous?"

[Lugubrious]

Just as Conquest was preparing to move, his Keeper's focus shifted to something in the sky. Even before the impostor followed suit, he sensed it as well. Dark energy, while not the First Horseman's specialty, was familiar enough to him so that his magical senses could recognize it. Moreover, he could tell that this particular singularity was somewhat familiar; though he couldn't be sure, he had a dreadful guess as to its nature.

When the runic meteor had settled, casting its malevolent red light into the sundered crypt chamber and upon the exposed Heart, Conquest watched with keen interest. Even from a hundred feet away, the sheer power of the artifact was casting a pressure upon him. This pressure became more evident when Calvertem's spectral imps reluctantly attempted to move it, ending their pitiful existence and amusing Conquest in the process. He made note of its degenerative aura and was already seeking a solution to move it when the necromancer put his Walkers to the task, solving the problem.

The voice that emanated from the artifact wasn't meant for Conquest, but he heard it all the same. Upon hearing the ethereal, vengeful voice, his suspicions were all but confirmed. He let Calvertem exchange with the being, and wasn't surprised when he was turned to for advice. The man of flame decided to release some information pertaining to the bargain-seeking entity. “You can count on it to give you its power, but you can never be sure that the power will not destroy you. Wanton destruction is its very nature. The being whose voice reaches into our minds from that stone is called the Ripper, once an all-powerful Antikeeper called the Weaver, who was unable to stop the legendary Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. In retribution, its master took away its powers, and the vacuum left behind caused it to change into an all-consuming creature of wrath.” He hoped that he hadn't given up too much knowledge, but he wasn't too worried about the consequences. Caution simply wasn't part of his character.

“Fortunately destruction is in my nature as well. I say do it.”

-=-=-

It did not take long for the Swarm Keeper to locate her new construct. As instructed, Invicta had created a perimeter around the tree. The ground defenses were completely Myrmidon, with each soldier hidden behind his shield to prevent any possible sniping from the cover of the jungle. Every hour the sentries swapped out for another so that all could remain vigilant and well-rested; to prevent this being taken advantage of, Invicta had cleverly made sure that all swapping was asynchronous.

Landing in a foxhole that her construct was currently using as a sort of base, Clotho awaited a report. “No movement so far,” Invicta shrilled, contorting the keening shriek of an insect into piercing speech. Language was a talent Clotho had instilled in her alone—the average Myrmidon was only capable of clicks and growls. “You have completed a new troop, mistress?”

“Indeed I have. The Lambents are aerial troops, able to get the drop on anyone through the dense canopy and rain down caustic fluid onto their ranks. With the Lambents above and the Antlions below, we should be...?”

Clotho found herself interrupted by the arrival of a drone imp, which impudently and brainlessly began to vocalize to her. While irritating, Clotho could not blame the creature she had designed. It only took a few seconds to relay the urgent information.

“Ah, it seems your troops haven't long to wait. This drone, stationed in the Compound of Eyes, saw the approaching humans through a lucky Macula. And here I was thinking that imps were too stupid to come in useful once in a while.”

Clotho then beat her wings and rose above the ground. With a earsplitting cry, she summoned the Lambents -now numbering sixteen- from their hive and the Antlions from their colony. “Take your positions, Lambents among the trees and Antlions tunneling below the ground. A birds-eye view and a sense for tremors should allow both of your species to pinpoint their location. I will join you Lambent fliers. On my signal we will strike from above to divide their forces. Once split, you Antlions will erupt from the ground and wreck havoc among them to draw their attention. Myrmidons will emerge from your tunnels and engage. Should be quick and easy; we have nature on our side. If the hero is with them, wait to engage until the other humans are sufficiently occupied. Then attack all at once. Only fools have their mooks attack one at a time.”

A razor-toothed grin appeared on her face. She pulled her rapier from the notch on her lower back where it was stored. “Let us begin.”

status

Location: Dungeon
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An nearly complete, vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Bugs called Macula infest it, functioning as living security cameras and alarms. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Den. Living Foundry, Apothecary, Macula infestation, Antlion Colony, Compound of Eyes, Lambent Nest
Forces: 28 Drone Imps, 100 Myrmidons, Myrmidon Construct Invicta, 37 Antlions, 16 Lambents, Adjunct Baudrii, alchemist Rammel Vitreus, alchemical assistant Kayla Oakhurst

Compendium Entry
Pestilence – The Scourge of Man and one of the three Apocrypha of Elysium. Primarily called Malady. Former leader of the Blighted Men and a witch doctor. Her black skin is heavily tattooed, and she is garbed in a sleeveless lavender robe accented by leather armor, putrid green lengths of cloth, and stained bandages. Holds an innate trust in the cause. A formidable aegromancer, capable of killing dozens with airborne diseases of her own creation. Wields a barbwire spear infused with her noxious powers.

[Cyclone]

The apparition at first glance appeared to be little more than a mass of writhing smoke and shadows, if seen under light. In its domain, the black canvas of night and the dark depths, the creature was invisible. Only its smell would give its away; the air around the thing inevitably would reek of the metallic odor of blood, and of the revolting rot of death and the spirit realm.

Shaige looked down at figurine he had brought into his heart. Discarded by some Mutig when the tribe took to worshiping the Keeper, it was this idol that Shaige had used to summon a tribal spirit. Of course, the Loa, as such spirits were called, held little power. They were hardly any wiser than the wild beasts that they had been in life, and so they wielded their considerable power brazenly and unpredictably. They had failed to aid the Mutig tribe in its most dire time, and so Shaige saw any attempt to gain their support through negotiation as futile. Enslaving them had been advantageous, in any case.

By corrupting the animal spirits and coercing them into his servitude, Shaige had created even more powerful minions than could have been hoped for. Like their master, they belonged in the spirit realm, but they were anchored to the world of the living with blood magic. The power of the unholy font, Shaige's dungeon heart, would allow them to move between the spirit realm and this one, albeit with a good deal of effort and a short amount of time. In this way, they would be able to travel undetected and unhindered, until suddenly reappearing where needed. They would be useful for appearing out of thin air, ambushing enemy forces or simply breaking apart formations from within. The more intelligent shadow beasts could be used as scouts or assassins.

If one's vision could penetrate the shroud of darkness that the shadow beasts liked to dwell within, it would be possible to see an animal within the swirling smoke and shadows. The corrupted loas came in many different forms; snakes, bears, wolves, owls. Regardless, they were all lethal. Any claws or fangs that the beasts had possessed in life were still there, ghostly in appearance but all too real. Any wounds suffered at the hands of the shadow beasts would rapidly lead to unconsciousness, then necrosis, illness, and death. Being partially incorporeal, the beasts were far more difficult to slay than living ones. However, their state offered no protection against magic, and light was their bane. Under cover of darkness they were death incarnate; swift, invisible, and dangerous. In the light, however, their hides of smoke and shadow withered. Sunlight and flame could render them dizzy, weakened, and all too visible.

Now that he had invoked this rite in his dungeon heart, more shadow beasts would be created. They prowled the unused tunnels and caverns in the dungeon, hiding from the occasional glow of the pain elementals that also lurked in such places. With the new creature complete, Shaige had time to inspect the status of his dungeon. Between the pain elementals and shadow beasts, he had a fearsome force. Combined with the might of the now trained, drilled, and equipped zealots, destroying the wretched Klug tribe would be easy enough.

The hawkish Klug warbands would then cease harassing the Mutig, and the display of power would go a long way toward showing the other tribes what would come to those who defied a Keeper. Then, with the forest tribes united, Shaige would be able to look elsewhere for allies without worrying about having a horde arrive at his doorstep and sack the dungeon in his absence. The combined forces of the forest tribes would be enough to stop the Paterdomans crusade, take back the conquered parts of the forest, and then sack the grand city.

The Keeper some time to contemplate why he desired so much to destroy that city. There would be many people there, to enslave and use to further grow his power. Setting such an ambitious goal gave the ghostly Keeper purpose, something that he had desperately sought out since his first moment of existence. Conquering such a great bastion would prove his power, and leave no doubt in the minds of any that he was a Keeper to be trifled with. None of those were the reason. Perhaps with more wondering the ghost would have found an answer, but his musings were violently interrupted. The entire dungeon shook. Already in his dungeon heart, it took the Keeper only a moment to examine his domain and find the cause: there had been a massive cave-in in the uppermost levels of the subterranean city. The denizens of his dungeon did not know this, as the sole exit to the surface was now blocked, but the source of this collapse had been a collision. Some sort of thing had crashed down with tremendous force straight into the rocky hillock above.

Immediately the Keeper knew that this was no normal meteor. Inside his dungeon heart, Shaige was omnipresent. He saw that the thing glowed with a red aura, that it was some sort of crystalline structure engraved with otherworldly runes. He sensed its destructive aura, and the power within, as if he was right next to the artifact. Soran, Fangir, and a few others had taken the initiative to act. The storage rooms were being ransacked for timber. Crude wooden supports were being erected everywhere to prevent further collapses. People on both sides of the collapsed tunnels were trying to clear them out with shovels,pickaxes, and magic. Soran was already barking orders to clear out the way to the entrance, before everyone suffocated. A few had been injured, but for the most part the damage was actually minimal. The wounded would be tended to, somewhere, by one of the druids. Pah! Shaige cursed his oversight, to have not ordered construction of a medical ward before now. He made a mental note to see to that later.

But now, Shaige was distracted. Some foreign entity was attempting to probe his mind from afar, no doubt having sensed the Keeper's potent aura. The conscience tugged at Shaige's mind with an inordinate amount of power, far more than any human and most Keepers could wield, willing the Keeper to leave the dungeon heart and approach the fallen artifact. Warily and begrudgingly, Shaige complied. He himself was curious as to the nature of this artifact, and needed to determine if it was a threat.

Repairing damage caused by collapses: 0/4

Shaige

Minions: Soran the imp construct, The Tormenter, Ifrit the Rogue Being, 9 imps, 200 pain elementals, 100 Zealots, Fangir the archdruid, 30 druids, 200 Mutig Tribesmen, 10 shadow beasts
Resources: Roughly twenty corpses ready for sacrifice. Plenty of coal and ores, and high quality metal tools, armor, and weapons. Dwindling lumber and food supplies as a result of the tribesmen being ordered not to go onto the surface for the time being.
Infrastructure: Shaige's dungeon is a sprawling, subterranean city. The entrance is in the side of a rocky hill, in the form of a narrow cave concealed with magic. Down below are many twisting corridors and chambers of varying size. Magical lighting is used, so as to not suffocate everyone inside the poorly ventilated cavern. The cave system is massive, and much of it is unused and unexplored. Shaige's dungeon heart is a fountain of blood in the sanctuary directly below his shrine room, deep beneath the surface and the rest of his dungeon. A foundry and smelter are have recently been built. Latrines, barracks, and civilian housing areas are currently being created, expanded, and improved. The forge's exhaust is directed into a large, sealed chamber that Shaige uses as a pen for Ifrit.

Compendium Info:

Shadow Beasts: These are the spirits, called loas, that were formerly worshiped by the Mutig tribe. Now, they are corrupted by black magic and bound into servitude to Shaige, the same Keeper that is now the patron spirit of the Mutig. The shadow beasts are weak to any form of light, and are not particularly resistant to magic. However, fighting them in close quarters would be a terrible mistake. Their ghostly forms are very difficult to damage with physical objects, yet their claws and teeth have no difficulty harming the living. The smallest of wounds from them delivers a deadly poison of magical nature, that quickly leads to unconsciousness and then a death by necrosis. Shadow beasts take the form of various animals, blanketed by writhing clouds of smoke and shadow. They possess the power to enter and exit the spirit realm, but doing so takes time and considerable effort.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

As Ifrit made his way deeper into the forest, claws tearing trees from the path with a brutal savagery, he came crashing to a stop as he rammed into a much larger and sturdier tree, towering high above the canopy. With a growl, he looked up at the tree, a hunger for death in his eyes before he realized that the tree could feel no pain. Still, the mass of bark and leaves would make itself useful to him. With a rather unsurprising lack of agility, Ifrit dug his claws into the tree as he clambered up the side. As his claws scrabbled for a grip upon the rough bark, he peered out over the trees. Though very little could be seen out of the ordinary, he managed to see a small clearing.

Certainly, if there were to be war patrols nearby, he would find them at this clearing. Though a sneak attack would certainly benefit Ifrit, his massive stature and tendency to produce smoke removed that option. Surely, as he neared the clearing, any inside would know of his presence. Hopefully, they would stand their ground like good little morsels, rather than fleeing. But then, it was always much more fun to chase them down.

With an unearthly roar, Ifrit began slowly walking towards the clearing, his speed slowly increasing to a gallop. Trees splintered beneath his obsidian claws, making a rumbling noise echo all around the small clearing. Before he burst through the final line of trees, he paused, lowering his torso to the ground, ready to pounce. He let a silence fall over the forest, as smoke began to settle over the surrounding area, greatly lowering the visibility for all but Ifrit, a beast born into the harsh embrace of the smoke and smog.

Releasing yet another roar of monstrous proportion, Ifrit sprung forward, his massive hind legs propelling him up over the small line of trees. As he crashed down, he spun in a quick circle, his tail knocking down yet more of the trees in its wild flailing. Ifrit's amethyst eyes pierced through the smoke, allowing him to see a few figures silhouetted, wading through the heavy smoke with their weapons drawn. The scent of sweat and fear ran heavy through the air, mingling with the smoke to make a malady of smell to fill Ifrit's nose with pleasure. With a quick lunge, Ifrit closed his jaws around around the head of the first victim, making good use of the chaos that he had brought with him.

Ifrit swallowed, banishing the severed head to rest within the smoke filled cavern of a stomach deep within his Ifrit's flesh. He turned slowly to the next, disappointed that there were only four left to dispatch of. He lashed out to feast upon the closest man, his teeth sinking deep into the flesh, tearing away more body mass than he had hoped for. A sharp pain blossomed from his neck as a brave spearman managed to stab his weapon in between the hard obsidian shards that protected him from blunt attacks. Though nothing vital was pierced, an oily fluid began freely leaking out of the wound, clearly accompanied by pain.

A shriller roar was loosed from his throat, his glare turning to the man, who quickly cowered in fear. A quick swipe of the claw ripped a jagged tear through the mans flesh, spilling blood and organs across the once pure forest floor. Two men left- both armed with swords and small bucklers. Surely they could've made this a challenge? Not even a single spellcaster, nor a magically enhanced soldier. Still, given time, they would be forced to send stronger troops, in larger numbers. Shaige was a strong leader, one with great magical prowess, and he warranted a greater bounty.

For now, Ifrit would be content with dispatching of these smaller scraps. With little thought, he stepped forward, pinning one swordsman down. He shifted his weight to that foot, crushing the man. The crack of brittle bones filled the air, breaking the short silence. The lone scout screamed in terror, staring death itself in the face. Ifrit chuckled as he advanced slowly, flashing his razor sharp teeth, stained with blood. With a bloodcurdling screech, a jet of smog was blasted into the mans terrified face, choking him. Clearly surprised, the swordsman stumbled, dropping his weapons to cover his eyes. With the man thoroughly distracted, he brought down his claws with brutal force, just clipping the mans knees enough to cripple him. Though most smoke rises, Ifrit's magical smoke was heavier, clinging to the ground. When the swordsman fell, no longer able to make use of his legs, he quickly realized that he had been sentenced to a slow death, inhaling the deadly smog.

Proud of his work, Ifrit took a deep breath, drawing in the scent of the death and destruction he had spread. However, hidden deep beneath the scent of blood, he caught a whiff of something that he didn't like one bit. Someone was still alive. Head quickly twisting from side to side, he inhaled in small short breaths through his nose, the scent slowly becoming clearer as he took slow steps, nearing the source. He had hoped that this wouldn't happen. He could only imagine how he would be punished if any escaped on his watch. Ifrit looked around furtively. More smoke fumed from his pores as he got more frustrated with this game of cat and mouse. Despite his power, and how proud he was of it, a doubt lingered in the back of his mind that he might disappoint his master.

---

Having a freshly delivered pile of corpses from Stamrad, Viktor got to work, but was surprised to see that Stamrad had taken some alive, as prisoners. Without a thought, he turned them into Husks, removing their free will and ability to disobey orders. Though truly unnecessary, it would speed up his progress greatly. Thanks to his literal connection to the dungeon, he was able to keep track of, and speak with anyone in his dominion with ease. Speaking with the Husks as he worked away, creating more Broken Beasts, he ordered them to begin digging out the floor beneath him, to create a rather intimidating pit, as well as mine for minerals. By his design, a narrow path was to be left, leading to his worktable, as well as a pedestal for the glowing red rock to rest upon. He would prefer to keep it where he could work with it, and test it's capabilities without having to move it back and forth. Though he had not yet tried, he had a feeling the destructive aura of the foreign object would make it very difficult to move.

Viktor took a brief look down at his work, metal arms whirring as they quickly worked. Thanks to the corruption of the blueprint, he would be unable to restore his Broken Beasts to their former glory, but these weaker creatures were still rather valuable in battle, with all of their capabilities that had survived. So, he crafted quickly the sad creatures shrieking at their hideous bodies as he imbued them with life. After churning out about fifteen of these, he took two of the Husks, and had them leave to continue the work, and to not stop until they had another ten, at the least.

He then turned his attention to the destruction of his beautiful fort caused by the destructive rock. Though the angle had made the destruction centered in the ceiling, which shouldn't cause many problems, it had ruined the structural integrity of one wall, which would need repairs. He sent off four of the remaining seven to work on that, but ordering them to rebuild the wall anew, and deliver the old bricks to him, for his work. Already, his mind was working, clockwork gears quite literally turning as he began plotting a nefarious plot to prevent attacks from more onslaughts of magic, as his army would encounter great problems in this aspect of war. "Weaklings, relying on magic to kill their enemies. True might needs not such theatrics." Viktor muttered to himself, before beginning his work.

Status

3rd Construct: 0/3

Wall Repairs: 0/5

First Level of Oubliette: 0/8

Location: His Dungeon, North-West of Altearx
Dungeon: A small stone castle, armed with a summoning room, barracks, Heart, and prison.
Minions: 2 Imps, 9 Humanoid husks, 31 Ogres, 76 Skeletons, 101 Minotaurs, 5 Walking Ballistae, 26 Broken Beasts, Stamrad, and The Patchwork Man
Resources: Seemingly endless supply of stone, large amounts of steel. The village was equipped with a couple of farms which feed the army. He has a large pile of assorted organs, bones, and other various body parts, as well as exactly 76 skulls.

[The 42nd Gecko]

Preface to Gospel of Vicnius
By Apostle Vicnius
I am frequently forced to remind those among the faithful that idolize me, Apostle Vicnius, that I am just a man. I am no great magus or sorcerer, master of the arcane who predicted the Emperor of Peace's arrival. I am no great sage or astrologer, who studied prophecies or saw signs among the stars to pinpoint the day of the Gracious One’s first blessing. I am no great faithful, who sought out the Healing Warrior before his glory was revealed to me. I am just a man, graced with His blessing through no greatness of my own.

Chapter 1:

The sleepy village of Hallowsdown, S13°W05° if you wish to visit, was a self-sufficient place of grain and steel, farmers and miners. Our adventuresome sons would leave to explore the broad world, only to realize everywhere else one could travel to on a farmer’s son’s budget from Hallowsdown was just as boring. Then, one day, as the time of harvest and a chill northern wind crept closer, the town of Hallowsdown was attacked. A wandering tribe that roamed the mountainsides of the Izvor Ranges had fallen on hard times, their herds and the beasts they hunted afflicted with disease. Faced with starvation, they fell upon us. They were skilled hunters, and also mighty warriors, possessing a number of fierce champions who wore the skins of bears they had killed barehanded. Mere peasant folk such as us had no chance to withstand their fury, despite their few numbers.

I saw both my sons fall that day, torn apart by a massive claymore, their blood soaking into the bear skin of a keen eyed grizzled champion. With a cry of fury to avenge them, or perhaps of fear to join them, I charged the brute with naught but a sickle. Foolishness, I was cut down before him. As the battle raged onward towards our home, I was dragged by a few of our people to a camp where the wounded had been brought. No doctors in our village, the midwife and a few wives attempted to ease the pain of our final moments. Then I saw the Emperor for the first time. He was a glorious figure, towering tall above common men. A glorious halo of light, like the midday sun, graced his red hair and fair skin. Mighty armor, of white and gold, clad his body. This armor was not mere plating to protect, but the raiment of a Lord, it expanded his already deific figure. He raised his hand over me, and I became the First Blessed, the Apostle Vicnius. I rose, unharmed by the battle. He nodded to me, and I fell into rank behind him. As he passed the ranks of this hall of death, each man defied deaths grasp and rose up, ready to follow him to battle. He lead us back to the battlefield, armed not only with meager weapons, but with faith and His Grace. The Emperor of Peace spoke these words, as he leveled a magnificent sword of shining steel, nearly wider than my torso, though I am no man of wide shoulders.

”Sons of the Mountain, return now to your home, and I shall tend to your flocks. Do not force my hand to protect my own.”

They did not listen, as do many who first hear the words of the Emperor of Peace, and they came for him. Raising his other hand, a strange weapon in hand, the Emperor of Peace regretfully let forth a torrent of thunder, smoke, and death. The weapon was some sort of divine gun, short like a pistol but much wider, though not in the barrel, that could fire nearly without end. Many fell before they could even reach our ranks, and when they did, The Emperor put his size, armor, and sword to use. He was a titan among men, and even their champions could not face him. Each of us that fell beside him rose up again to continue the battle. They broke and fled before the Emperor.

The Emperor gave an unworthy little village the grace to be the place of his landing among men. Broken and burned, we given this one chance to become the first to join the new order, to be the capitol of an empire of peace. How could we refuse? The Emperor of Peace had made his first conquest, the sleepy little town of Hallowsdown.

Status

1st Minion: 0/3

Location: The town of Hallowsdown 13S,5W
Dungeon: A broken village, with a battlefield alter, and a recovering populace.
Minions: A few hundred villagers, but most are busy trying to live and repair the village, only 25 serve as his loyal Followers.
Resources: The village's harvest was undamaged and its reserves of steel have yet to be tapped, but the village needs wood to repair itself.

Compendium:

The Emperor's origins are not yet widely known, but he made his appearance, standing tall above mortal men, graced with a halo, clad in white and gold armor, armed with advanced weaponry and healing magic. Saving the people of Hallowsdown from certain destruction, he has inspired many to service in his march for peace for all Elysium. Whether Elysium wants it or not. Now, they join him in prayer around a humble alter just outside the field of battle.

Follower - Imp Replacement. These Followers of the Emperor, many of whom have lost their families in battle, devote themselves solely to him. Prayers and labor, these humble servants grant him their service. Though they would gladly fight for him, they are not exactly trained combatants.

[The 42nd Gecko]

A village swarmed with activity, tribesmen preparing for battle, above the hustle and bustle on an outcropping of rock, sat a lone man. No shirt or weapon, just a crude pipe, pants, and glorious tattoos that put most dress finery of civilized nations to shame.

Taking in a puff of whatever was burning in the pipe, the man seemed troubled. His breath exhaled slowly, barely projecting the smoke away from his face.

"Hey, Brotha, hos be da champ a de Klug llivin?" What seemed to be some sort of impossibly colored leopard, icy blue base with black spots, stalked up behind the man, gently rubbing his flank across the Champion as he passed.

"..." The Champion did not respond, but set the pipe down, not taking another breath. The Loa read the moment and sat down beside him.

"They really stung up the hornets nest." The Champion's head lowered, and he reached to scratch the Loa's neck.

"Mmmmm..." The Loa appreciated the gesture for a few moments before responding. "Yeh, but dey neva was gud fer much."

"The Mutig were na bad." The Champ's accent showed a slight hint of his constant Loa companion's speech after all these years. As the Loa raised an eye, the champ smirked, "Not that I was gonna marry dem."

Looking out over his village, The Champ sighed "Thing's gonna change, Gau."

The Loa suddenly burst out laughing, "Ting's change befar ya was born, littal bwoy, afta ya dia. Neva live longa ta see."

"Still.. We gonna play the old draw card before dey do?" The Champion took a hearty breath of the smoke from his pipe before blowing it all over Gau's face. Gau just sucked it all in, and with a moment of concentration blew out, spreading a smoke over the nearby rock, icing it up.

"Ya."

And so they sat, waited, and watched, together as always as war came to the Klug.

[Cyclone]

The stone felt Shaige's arrival before the keeper had even emerged from the ground below. The moment that the ghostly form that was Shaige made its presence known, an insidious cacophony of voices emanated from the stone. "I have come looking for a Keeper, and it seems that a Keeper I have found. Tell me, what is your name? What it is that you want?"

The wraith remained unmoving, lurking in a shadow cast by a ledge above. Taking the form of a shadow, Shaige remained as unmoving as a statue. Two amethysts peered at the stone with an unwavering stare, enough to unnerve most beings. But the Ripper was not afraid. Rather, it was frustrated. The Keeper had ignored the question, brooding in silence as it continued to give only an inquisitive stare.

At long last, when the Ripper was growing dangerously annoyed, an answer came, "Death. Darkness. Silence. Potential. I possess neither goals nor specific wants. Why set out for just a few things, when you could take everything for yourself? Now tell me, being within the stone, what your name is. Tell me what you want."

"I am Destruction, Entropy, the Bleeding Star in the sky. I do not herald doom. I am the End. I have come in search of power, and in return I offer power. You claim to be only potential. Broker a deal with me, and you will be ruination incarnate. The only way to have everything is to take it by force. I offer my aid."

A small stone tumbled down from above, landing on the Destruction Catalyst that had buried itself within the hill. The instant that the rock touched the red aura that swirled about the meteorite, there was a flash. The thing cracked, and suddenly it was not one rock but a fistful of gravel. The tiny pebbles began to slide down the crystalline structure, but when they finally made it to the ground they had been reduced to sand.

Shaige eyed such a spectacle, and both coveted and feared such power. Warily, he inquired, "What do you offer? What are its costs?"

"There exist many great enemies to your kind, and two of these scourges plague this world. Make no mistake, their arrogance and treachery know no bounds. With not so much as a fleeting thought, they would demand your unconditional aid in their detestable plight. You would be their thrall, until the moment that they triumph here, at which point they would wipe you from existence.

But not I. I will extend to you the offer that I have given to all the others of your kind. Lend me your power. Your dungeon heart conjures and siphons enormous power. Channel this into me, always. When your times of need inevitably occur, I will repay the debt by empowering you tenfold, if only for a short time. But do not worry yourself about those things. You need only know this; with your aid, I could purge this world and condemn the two great enemies to oblivion."

Shaige thought long and hard, musing over what he had just learned. The voices inside the stone were not trustworthy. Their vague references to two great enemies did little to win the support of the Keeper. If anything, they alienated him; why should he get involved in manners that he knew nothing of, and that would seemingly never affect him if left to sort out themselves? A flicker of worry crossed the Keeper's mind as it realized that there was far more powerful, hidden forces at work. It was disconcerting to think that there were beings that could simply erase all his progress, shake him and his feeble followers off of Elysium like fleas. Yet at the end of the day, Shaige was a mere ghost. This dungeon and these followers were simply a sword; a tool with which he could dominate and take what truly mattered, a means to an end. The Keeper realized that at the end of the day, he had nothing to lose save time, and time was of little value to an immortal spirit.

It was the rather unexpected offer regarding the sharing of power that appealed to the wraith. Shaige's dungeon heart required a steady flow of sacrificial victims in order to provide the wraith with dark magic and anchor him to the realm of the living. Yet the blood magic produced so much power that it almost always simply overflowed, the unused and wasted magic seeping into the nearby area. Directing the flow towards this strange being would cost Shaige nothing, and if the voices spoke the truth, the ability to call on a great deal of power when it was most needed would prove to be a great boon.

"Very well. I shall accept your offer, if you prove to me that you are indeed capable of fulfilling your side of the bargain. Your 'arrival' has wrought untold chaos and stymied my progress by blockading tunnels and collapsing parts of my domain. My minions will soon repair the damage that you have caused, yet you remain in my debt. Loan me your power first. I plan to conquer a nearby village, and your additional strength would be of great value. Once that is done, I vow to uphold my side of the deal and begin feeding you my excess power."

The Ripper was less than pleased. The pathetic Carver was pressing its advantage, and now of all times was when the Ripper needed to gain power, not hand it away to greedy Keepers. Still, if providing a miniscule amount of power to the puny Keeper would ensure a constant stream of magic, no matter how small, the deal was worth making. Reluctantly, the Ripper replied, "I accept your terms. When the time comes, you will have my strength. But do not try me; betraying my trust would be a terrible mistake.

And with that, the stone fell silent. The Keeper thought he could faintly hear other conversations, echoes of other strange voices talking to this mysterious being. But he was unable to discern anything of importance and there were preparations to be made, so the Keeper's thoughts did not dwell on the topic for long.

[Lugubrious]

Though Clotho's strategy was sound, the ensuing battle was by no means easy. Her forces, simultaneously striking from above and below, succeeded in splintering the ranks of the small, invading army. Men were showered in agonizing fluid by the Lambent, which then swooped down to finish them off with their natural blades. When the soldiers and mages attempted to form up to defend themselves, the ground beneath their feet invariably gave way, disorienting them and leaving them wide open to attack from the Myrmidons climbing up from the tunnels. They weren’t the problem; the woman, on the other hand, was.

Wielding a katana wreathed in crackling electricity, the heroine downed troop after troop. Her silver blade pierced shield and shell alike, spilling vital fluids over the dappled forest floor. In her off hand was a lantern that would flare up whenever Clotho's troops momentarily gained the upper hand, revitalizing those around her and repulsing the insects to turn the tide back in her favor. These magical weapons weren't the heroine's only blessings; clearly she was very athletic, having shredded about a dozen bugs already and barely broken a sweat. Her words of encouragement were magic in and of themselves, rallying her men and keeping moral up despite their ghastly foes. It was unfortunate that the primal instincts of her children overpowered their ability to follow her orders, Clotho thought; even those who did gang up on the heroine were unsuccessful, stunned by the accursed lantern. The Swarm Keeper decided that toying with this heroine was a foolish extravagance, and that now was as good a time as any to finish her off. First step would be to cripple her defense.

Luckily, the humans who weren't near their leader were easy prey to the combined assault of Myrmidon, Antlion, and Lambent. The remaining group, illuminated from the center by the lantern's silver flare, was rapidly becoming surrounded. From her position in the canopy, Clotho directed her troops with a series of whistles and cries to form a perimeter around the humans and prevent their escape, all the while holding off their attack. Sensing a lull in the battle, the men also put up their guard. When everything was quiet, Clotho made her move. ”I'm going in—when they focus on me, do your part.”

She dove straight down at high speed, rapier extended. By the time the heroine realized she was targeted, Clotho was close enough to impale the lantern with the slender, barbed blade. In an instant the artifact was destroyed, and with a flick of her wrist Clotho flung it away into the muck. If not for her improved reflexes, she would have been slain then and there as the heroine brought her katana around in a crescent arc aimed at Clotho's midsection. Fortunately, the Swarm Keeper was able to backpedal and avoid the blade, not flinching as sparks of lightning leaped between metal and carapace. All eyes turned to her, and the humans collectively attempted to bring her down, whether with spear thrusts, sword slashes, or fired arrows. Utilizing her speed, Clotho evaded them all. She knew, despite being untouched, that she couldn't sustain this level of activity for long. A rising cry from the nearby brush, however, signaled that she hadn't long to wait.

Baudrii burst from the foliage, five hundred pounds of armor and rage. Ignoring the puny blows rained upon him as he drew the attention of the massed humans, he thundered into their ranks, sending men flying or crushing them into the ground beneath his heels. His charge didn't waver as he approached the heroine, who readied her blade to deliver an evasive strike that Clotho guessed would be able to shear through his carapace like paper. Do I really have to save you so soon? With a frenzied cry she descended once more, quickly dispatching two of the remaining humans with thrusts to the head before slashing at the heroine. Unable to concentrate of counterattacking, the heroine rolled out of the way of Baudrii, putting the Adjunct between her and the Swarm Keeper. Baudrii stopped in his tracks, drew a massive, serrated broadsword, and turned to face the heroine as Clotho leveled her rapier at the woman's face.

“The hero, in the flesh! I wondered when we'd meet. Now I wonder how long you'll last.”

A smirk flashed across the woman's face. “Villains and their threats. Always so funny in retrospect.”

Without waiting for a reply, she sliced the air in front of her, releasing a wave of lightning from her katana. The bolts crashed into Baudrii and Clotho simultaneously, filling the air with the foul stench of burning. While Clotho was forced to land on the ground and lower her singed wings, her Construct was practically unhurt, and charged forward once again. Rather than a simple shoulder bash, he swung his blade in a wide, horizontal arc that would have cleaved the heroine in two had she not ducked beneath it. Immediately she followed up, delivering a rising slice to her armored foe's leg. With a grunt, Baudrii dropped to his knees, seeping brown fluid from the wound. In that moment Clotho realized that they were precisely where her enemy wanted them, and that her Dungeon would be a far preferable alternative. Before the heroine could impale Baudrii through the slit in his armet, Clotho tossed a handful of hive material from her off hand, which splattered against the woman's face despite her attempted to block it. Clotho whistled, and an Antlion thundered to her from the perimeter. At her hurried direction, it picked up Baudrii in its mandibles and carried him away. The Swarm Keeper was on its many heels, and the rest of her forces melted away into the jungle. Suddenly the heroine was alone with the remaining quarter of her men, faced with the decision to let the threat be or pursue her to her lair.

For a hero, there was no choice at all. “We cannot give up now when she's on the run. We advance to her base immediately.”

Status

Location: Oerwood Jungle
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An nearly complete, vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Bugs called Macula infest it, functioning as living security cameras and alarms. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Den. Living Foundry, Apothecary, Macula infestation, Antlion Colony, Compound of Eyes, Lambent Nest
Forces: 28 Drone Imps, 89 Myrmidons, Myrmidon Construct Invicta, 35 Antlions, 12 Lambents, Adjunct Baudrii, alchemist Rammel Vitreus, alchemical assistant Kayla Oakhurst

[The 42nd Gecko]

The village had a simple plan for defense. There are few tools by which a mortal man could wound creatures of ghost and shadow. But there are a few.

Fire cleanses everything. Good or ill, build a fire hot enough, and burns everything to ash, pure and untainted. The presence of fire magic and elementals strained this principle, but did not overrule it. One simply needed a hotter fire.

A ring of torches lit the perimeter, which, was not a full wall, but rather rows of sharpened stakes that would slow infantry but not stop them, but would effectively deter cavalry. The village's primary threats to their way of life were civilized nations and their formations and cavalry, not the raiders from fellow tribes, though those raids be more common.

At the back of the village, there was a mighty plateau of bare rock, a winding path up multiple terraces leading to the top only on the side of the village. The temple of the Klug was their last refuge, the entry at the top of this plateau but the complex leading all the way down into the base. In the past, when nations struck at the five tribes and others were scattered, the Klug retreated their women and their children to the inside of the temple, while the men fought inside the town. They did not hide in the temple's fastness, yet fought harder to protect their families.

A hundred of the holy men of the Klug prayed inside the temple around a great fire that produced a plume of multicolored smoke, like a glorious headdress for the rock formation. Its stone was rendered impervious to spell, spirit, or steel by their chant*. But there was a weakness to this spell. The smoke and fire had to keep going, and so the exit could not be sealed lest everyone die without air. Two hundred of the Klug warriors remained atop the rock to protect it from assault. The terraces had many small fires lit, next to great stacks and rings of throwing spears. Rocks too, were readied and piled around the edges. These rocks were wrapped in grass and bundles, wet with liquid.

Throughout the town paths were made, grass and other brush piled up and wet with liquid. It was a bit odd that if it was intended to light them, the paths were not aligned so that the fires would not catch the nearby buildings aflame.

0/10 Until the Klug let their guard down. If no forces disturb the Tribes further for awhile, the Klug will likely assume the threat is passed and lower their guard. They cannot maintain this heightened state of alert forever.

*Technically not true in that enough firepower would get through, but with 100 guys bolstering the spell, you'd have a real pain making good headway.

[Cyclone]

It was not long after his meeting with the being inside the stone that Shaige's followers had finished excavating the rubble and repairing the tunnel. Crude wooden supports held up the tons of stone above; for now they would hold, but the keeper's dislike of such improvisations would mean that more thorough and permanent reparations would be necessary. Still, now was not the time. The spirit did not let his thoughts stray far from the Klug. Fangir and Soran were informed that the time was coming, so they hastily saw about preparing the army.

Shaige, meanwhile, retreated to his dungeon heart. In the corner of the tiled chamber was a mound of near two dozen slain humans. Their blood was old and stagnant, as evidenced by how the sickening smell of death and decay permeated the room. Still, the Keeper required blood to be spilled into the unholy fountain that was his dungeon heart. Without blood magic, the keeper would be nothing; his powers gone and his soul exiled to the spirit realm. So it was unsettling to have a mere twenty rotting men in place of hundreds of live prisoners, still pure and filled with vigorous blood.

That was one of the reasons that the attack could not wait. The other was that Shaige was keen to see the power that the Destruction Catalyst had promised, and in truth some sense correctly told the wraith that the voices inside the artifact were impatient and would not wait. So it was that the wraith found himself rushing into what was a bold, premature, and dangerous assault. The Mutig tribesmen could provide some details. They also knew that their foes numbered in the thousands, and that their Loas were wiser and powerful enough to actually speak. The Klug village was barely fortified; the women and children hid in some grand temple while the met fought off their enemies in open combat, rather than cowered behind walls.

With a snap of his fingers, Shaige reduced the twenty corpses before him to dust. Their flesh dried, cracked, and finally turned to mere powder as every drop of moisture was magically pulled out and sucked into Shaige's font of blood. Even the skeletons were reduced to dust, as the bones splintered into thousands of pieces so that the blood in the marrow could burst forth. Shaige now had an inordinate amount of blood in his fountain. It was vile and old, yet it was not worthless. Shaige was rejuvenated and strengthened; he now felt in his prime. That would not last. With each spell and passing hour, the blood magic would dwindle. Time was of the essence.

The Keeper left to inspect the army that he had amassed over the past month. There were a hundred zealots, master soldiers that could hardly be considered human at this point. They wore full plate armor, black suits heavy beyond description and thick enough to stop arrows and swords. Despite that, they could march for a day without stopping and in battle they moved utterly unhindered. Though they could have wielded claymores in each hand, they favored to use normal weaponry in the form of swords, pikes, and tower shields. Their magically augmented strength gave them to ability to swing such implements with terrifying speed and force. All the remaining spellcasters, a mere thirty thirty, would accompany their archdruid and chieftain Fangir. To supplement the druids and heavy infantry, Fangir was bringing along a hundred human bowmen, half of the remaining tribesmen. The other hundred would remain in the dungeon, defending it and continuing to work.

There were also three and a half hundred pain elementals that had been rounded up. Summoning them was easy, especially with so many souls readily trapped in Shaige's fountain of blood, so Soran had swelled their ranks considerably over the past few days. The pain elementals were instinctive and difficult to control, driven wild by the ghostly flames that tormented them. Sepulchral wailing accompanied them wherever they went, and their titian orange glow easily gave away their presence. Still, with the ability to drain the life of those that they touched and savagely explode in order to cripple or slay any nearby enemies, they were the best suited to handling the full strength of any defenders.

There were now sixteen shadow beasts, as well. One would have to remain at the dungeon, as losing the last of them would render Shaige unable to summon more without extreme difficultly. Of the remaining fifteen, five would serve as the wraith's bodyguard and the other ten as scouts. And then, of course, the army would have Ifrit, Fangir, Soran, and Shaige himself, all of whom were formidable in their own right. The Tormenter was still on a task of his own, somewhere keeping an eye on the Crusaders' outposts to the south. Ifrit would be closer and far easier to locate, so the wraith would afford the time to locate the rogue being. The Tormenter would not accompany the army, as he on the other hand would be difficult to locate, and his work was best continued.

An abundance of supplies was not needed. The soldiers each brought their weapons and armor, and only carried enough food and drink to last two days at best. Aside from that, there were only two things: torches made from simply coating sticks in tar, and an inordinate amount of chains and shackles. When the battle was over, the Mutig intended to put the village to the torch and enslave its inhabitants. Shaige did not protest; the village was distant and of no tactical value, and prisoners were needed for both labor and blood.

At late morning the army departed, numbering just over six hundred if one counted the pain elementals and the officers. The pain elementals traveled by flight, staying well above the treeline and out of sight. The shadow beasts easily negotiated the forest, and so the ten scouts forayed ahead and off to the side of the main army.
If there were any Klug scouts of warbands, they would be smelled by the shadow beasts, and almsot certainly meet a grisly death before they could return to warn their kin. The rest followed a few of the Mutig tribesmen that had once been pathfinders, before the tribe lost their village and retreated below the ground. The men had to traverse narrow game trails, cross streams, and maneuver the occasional rocky bluff. As such, an organized march was impossible, the few hundred men simply followed in single file most of the way. There was a long march ahead. It was hardly more than a league as the birds flew, yet the foreboding forest and rugged terrain did nothing to expedite the journey, so it would be dusk by the time they neared the enemy tribe.

Meanwhile, Shaige was not accompanying the army, but rather he searched his own domain for Ifrit. The beast was hardly subtle and seemingly showed a blatant disregard for going unseen, though in fairness it would be close to impossible for a creature of his size to avoid leaving an obvious trail. It was easy for the keeper to find the Mutig's ruined village and pick up Ifrit's trail from there. Taking a moment to examine the rogue being's work both at the village and at the small clearing, the wraith was not disappointed. When the keeper at last did find Ifrit, his arrival was announced by a sharp scent of blood and the reek of death. Such vile smells always accompanied the shadow beasts, and five of the things were bounding behind their master as his bodyguard.

"You have done well, but hunting those rats was little more than a diversion for you. Now we will see how you fare in a real battle. My minions already move to attack an enemy village. You will accompany me during the attack." With that, the wraith turned and began a hasty journey towards the Klug village. The army had left an hour ago and had in the opposite direction, so it would take a brisk pace converge with them.

______________________

William did not need to open his eyes. The screams and bestial roars were enough to tell the scout that the others were slain. Now he just had to look out for himself, not that he had tried to save them. The guilt was already hitting him, a heavy, sinking feeling in his chest. He tried to keep a clear mind, reminding himself that he was hidden. If he remained in the tree for long enough, the monster would leave and he come down.

But after many minutes, he still heard heavy footsteps from below. He didn't understand until he heard a heavy, ragged panting from below-no, the sound was sniffing. The scout opened his eyes, and saw the monster below, alarmingly close. Even through the leaves and branches and from fifty feet above, William could see that Ifrit was huge and beyond terrifying. The look confirmed the man's worst fear, the beast had smelled him and was trying to find its prey. From down there the thing couldn't reach him and it didn't look like it could climb. Not that any of that mattered, since it was easily big enough to simply knock down the whole tree. He muttered a few words to Caldor, praying for his life.

A hundred thoughts rushed through the scout's mind at once. He knew what to do. Pulling out his dagger, he began to saw off a few sticks from the branch he sat upon. The sawing sound seemed alarmingly loud to William, but with every footstep of the beast causing the ground to shudder, it didn't hear. A few moments later, William held the twigs in his hand. He threw it away from the tree as hard as he could. It crashed into a mound of leaves a hundred yards away. The rustling was heard by the monster, and it bounded to the source. It only took an instant before the ravenous thing was there, circling around in search for its prey. William hurled another stick, which landed farther behind Ifrit and broke with a sharp snap. The beast, seemingly confused, whirled around. Then, the scout jumped.

He narrowly made it onto a large branch of the nearest tree. He clambered around the trunk to a branch on the other side, and jumped again. In this way, he moved from tree to tree, praying to Unda that the light rustling above would blend in with the tune of leaves swaying in the wind. After traveling some distance in this way, William heard a frustrated roar in the distance. The beast had seemingly gave up. Or perhaps it was just trying to trick its prey into coming out of its hiding place. Te scout remained cowering in a tree for the rest of the day, long after Ifrit had left.

Attacking Army

Forces: 100 Mutig tribesmen (bowmen), 30 Mutig druids, 350 pain elementals, 100 zealots, 15 shadow beasts (10 scouts, 5 bodyguards to Shaige), Fangir the archdruid, Soran the imp construct (and his 9 imps), Ifrit the rogue being, and Shaige.
[/u]Supplies:[/u] Weapons, armor, arrows, and torches. Vast amounts of chains and shackles. Enough food and drink for another day and a half at best.

[The 42nd Gecko]

The little battlefield alter grew with the prayer and labor of the faithful, and a healing rain swept over the town, washing away the soot and ash. It seemed mystical, how quickly the town recovered. Where only a day smoldering ruins had been next to a half burned house, by the next day there was only a pleasant home. The people could only attribute it to the air that had fallen over the town since the Emperor's arrival.

Soon, the little battlefield alter had a chapel barn raised around it, and with the people fetching the steel of fallen weapons, the Emperor built a forge, a mighty manufactorium. Each piece he made once himself, crafting the tools to craft the piece, and showing the Followers how to use it, and them moving on to the next. By the end, a musket was forged. Then, an armored coat.

"These are the instruments of peace. Too many in this world are monsters not to be swayed by words. The steel and fire of the Faithful shall see the way cleansed for those who follow after."

The Emperor, needless to say, did not want for recruits.

"But we must not forget that many can be swayed by kind deeds. We go to the mountains, not to visit vengeance upon them, but to take their burdens for our own. Those who have lost the path and slog through the mud, freed of their burdens, may rise again and find it." Few understood the Emperors words, but follow him they did, as he left for the mountains.

Status

I'll just keep adding onto this status, so that if BBeast decided to add it, he only has to look up the last one.
1st Minion: 3/3
2nd Minion: 0/5

Location: Slightly north of the town of Hallowsdown 13S,5W
Dungeon: A village, a chapel that belches smoke and fire.
Minions: A few hundred villagers, but most are civilians, 35 followers and 25 Faithful
Resources: The village's harvest was undamaged and its reserves of steel have just begun to be tapped, sources of wood are low.

Compendium:

The Emperor's origins are not yet widely known, but he made his appearance, standing tall above mortal men, graced with a halo, clad in white and gold armor, armed with advanced weaponry and healing magic. Saving the people of Hallowsdown from certain destruction, he has inspired many to service in his march for peace for all Elysium.

Follower - Imp Replacement. These Followers of the Emperor, many of whom have lost their families in battle, devote themselves solely to him. Prayers and labor, these humble servants grant him their service. Though they would gladly fight for him, they are not exactly trained combatants.

Faithful- First Minion. A soldier armed with a musket, bayonets, light armor, and the Emperor’s Word, these soldiers are nightmares in formation on an open field. Volleys of musket fire decimate most normal forces at range and disciplined bayonet walls prove adequate though not exceptional in close quarters. However, in rough terrain, wet weather, or mixed up with enemy forces, the Faithful quickly fall apart compared to monstrous minions. They are forced to stay in formation to be of use, which renders them vulnerable to spells or other area weapons as well as being cumbersome to maneuver around the field, despite their light armor. While the Faithful excel at defending positions, they would be very hard pressed to successfully attack an enemy position. Their armor has a metal helmet that covers the skull and eyes, though there is a large vulnerable slit for each eye. Then, they wear an armored coat, long sleeves and four tails, with a thin metal plate over the chest, one over the legs on each of the forward tails, and one on the upper arms outside. They wear sturdy boots and gloves.

~~~~~

"No scouts have reported back.." A nervous spear carrying warrior informed the Champion.

"Den, they come." The Champion responded, putting his pipe back in his mouth with a clawed gauntlet that seemed coated with ice. As he rose, it was all the command his troops needed. Four hundred followed him to the front lines. No armor, a variety of versatile spears their weapon of choice. They moved not in a marching tight formation, but a loose collaboration. Four lines of a hundred, staggered out so that if two lines contacted each other, they could run through each other or fight side by side effortlessly.

Slightly less than 400 more waited in reserve in the city. The remaining 100 spellcasters were either with these reserves or atop the temple.

Casualties: 25 scouts.

Tier 1 non-magic warriors: 975 (400 front, 375 reserves, 200 guarding temple)
Tier 2 Magic Warriors: 100 reserves/temple, 100 maintaining temple spell.
Champion: 1 Frontline
Loa: 1 ???

[BBeast]

Calvartem seemed satisfied with Conquest's response. "Then we are in accord." He turned to the artefact. "I accept your offer, Ripper." Then he raised his staff and commanded, "Breaker, put this artefact into my Heart." The shadowy orb on his staff dissipated, and a few moments later bodies which had been lying around slid along the ground until they met together and merged. Flesh and sinew twisted and morphed until the hulking form of the Breaker stood in the road. Its gargantuan hand closed around the Catalyst, lifted it from the ground with ease, passed through the hole in the Heart and dropped it to the floor. The palm of Breaker's hand appeared as though it had suffered major burns, but being undead this did not concern it and being so massive the short exposure did nothing more than surface damage. The aura of the Catalyst flared slightly as it was placed in the crypt, where it was able to tap into the Heart's energy.

The job done, Calvartem tapped his staff on the ground and Breaker's frankesteinian form unravelled into a pile of flesh and bone as its spirit returned to the Necromancer's staff. Calvartem mounted Shadowmane once more in preparation to go. Before departing, he ordered his imps, "I need the Heart repaired and reinforced, somewhere proper to store the Ripper's artefact, and defensive ditches around the town." He then nodded to Conquest before galloping off at full speed towards the east. It did not concern him if Conquest could not keep up, for he would need time to gather the undead from the surrounds of the town. If he could keep up with Shadowmane, though, then he'd be able to make a more aggressive start.

---

Zadok had little time to orient himself if he wanted to track the falling red meteors. He made a brief mental note of the general directions of the other meteors and picked one at random, following it to the southern end of the continent. As he approached the landing site he was able to see that it had landed within a large port city. A little closer and he could see that it had landed in the courtyard of a temple of some kind. Some people, probably servants, who had been nearby came to inspect it, but they moved aside when a man garbed in flamboyant robes and trailed by 6 attendants emerged from the temple. With his keen vision, Zadok could see the scene clearly before he was close enough to become conspicuous. The meteorite, which was in this case smaller than a basketball, lay on the ground glowing with its conspicuous red aura. The robed man leaned in to inspect the curious object, then reached down to pick it up but withdrew his hand in pain the moment he touched it. Then Zadok could see a shift in the body language of the audience. Some looked around, trying to see something that wasn't there. Others peered closer to the stone. All of them had a moment of surprise. As Zadok drew closer, he found that the cause of this was a presence speaking aloud telepathically, and he immediately recognised it as the Ripper. Zadok descended faster.

The disjointed voices of the Ripper gradually became clearer to hear in Zadok's head as he neared the Catalyst. ...there are many enemies to your city emerging. Powerful beings leading monstrous armies. Grant me a share of this city's magic, and I shall grant you the power to obliterate anyone who dares to challenge the might of your grand city.

The robed man appeared intrigued by the offer. The high priest seemed ready to reply when Zadok gently touched down behind him and his entourage and interjected, I would not deal with that being.

On hearing the commanding voice from behind him, the high priest, surprised, turned around. He was even more surprised on seeing the dazzling angel standing on the ground where there had before been none. "And who are you?"

I am Zadok, and my purpose is to protect you and the rest of Elysium from the destruction that will be wrought if that being gets its way.

The Ripper hurled curses at the Anti-Keeper, but Zadok ignored them. This being, the Ripper, is the cause of the Source's corruption. The Ripper does not want you safe. It only wants the destruction of this entire world, and is willing to manipulate and deceive to gain the power to achieve such ends.

He lies! He just wants all the power for himself, to leave you vulnerable.

Zadok stretched out a hand to the Catalyst and a beam of pure white light struck the stone. It appeared unaffected. Silence! When you touched this meteorite it dealt harm to you, and harm is all it can give. I, on the other hand, can heal, protect, care. Zadok stepped forwards and, before the high priest could pull back, he touched his hand, covering it in holy light for a moment and the injury sustained from touching the Catalyst was healed. Surprised, the high priest inspected his hand and seemed pleased. Allow me to rid you of this disgusting artefact before it can cause any more harm.

The high priest was still rather lost for words, somewhat overwhelmed by the encounter. Eventually, he regained enough composure to respond. "Yes, it is wrong to make deals with malevolent spirits."

Zadok nodded. I shall do my best to keep this land safe. The Ripper cursed at him further as he approached the Catalyst, but they were too distant for the Ripper to force his way into Zadok's mind so Zadok blocked out the Ripper's voice completely. He sheathed his hand and forearm in a coat of brilliant white light before he picked up the stone. Its aura grew more fierce as it attempted to fight Zadok's interference, but the glove of light shielded him from its effects. In the blink of an eye he took off, bolting upwards over the bay, and in the arc of his flight he threw the Catalyst with all his might. He came to a stop mid-air and watched the diminishing speck of red fly out into the ocean until it splashed down in the distance. He considered that Catalyst, for most purposes at least, disposed of. Now to report to the Carver.

The Ripper has hatched some sort of plan with its corrupted meteorites. From what I've observed, they act as a conduit for the Ripper. He claims to be able to absorb power through them and, in turn, grant power to anyone who allows him to have such power to absorb. A lot of those meteorites fell to Elysium, which likely means just as many opportunities for the Ripper to siphon off extra power. At the same time Zadok also allowed the Carver access to his memories of the encounter with the Destruction Catalyst, in case the Carver could make further interpretations.

[Lugubrious]

At its mistress's command, the Antlion carried Baudrii up the sheer trunk of the King of the Forest, seeking a place to deposit him where he could recuperate undisturbed. With her construct taken care of, Clotho peered out into the jungle, waiting for the arrival of her nemesis. As she did so, she stretched her wings and found that they were usable once more, having recovered from the slight burn inflicted upon them by the heroine's lightning. The Swarm Keeper rose into the air, her morale vastly improved now that the miracle of flight was once again hers. Ten of her twelve remaining Lambents rushed to join her in her flight, circling the tree in search of any sign of the hero and her diminished forces. While there were almost certainly Macula in the vicinity that could pinpoint her enemy's location, Clotho felt that any diversion from the front lines could be a potentially lethal mistake. As such, she continued to patrol her Dungeon's perimeter with her Lambents, dodging hanging vines and hives while scanning the ground below.

Just as the Swarm Keeper had anticipated, the hero soon arrived. She almost didn't spot them; the humans were moving quickly between patches of vegetation in hopes of staying in cover. Good...we'll let them continue to think that they have the element of surprise. Using her insect cries, Clotho commanded her Lambents to withhold their attack and instead do their best to seem like they were still patrolling, all the while keeping tabs on the intruder's location. With that strategy in mind, Clotho left the human marauders to keep scurrying over the murky ground beneath the King of the Forest's expansive shade and circumnavigated the tree once more. When she returned, she saw with some alarm that the humans were only a few hundred feet from the entrance to the Myrmidon Den at the foot of the tree. Did they really think that the yawning, musty hole was an entrance? That was fortunate indeed. Careful not to betray her detection of the humans' presence, she swiftly ordered he Myrmidons to prepare an ambush and then moved on.

It worked better than she could have hoped. The men and women seeking to kill her were so fixed on their own cleverness that they never suspected the cave they were entering was really a dead end. Once they had reached the end of the line and thrown a few curses around, the trap was sprung. In the darkness -particularly without the annoyance of the heroine's lantern- the Myrmidons had the advantage. Spear thrusts ended the lives of half of the remaining men within the first minute, and the heroine found herself unable to rally a defense in the foreign, hostile environment. All they could do was flee to the light, an uphill path that resulted in heavy categories. The heroine, like any good leader, fended off Clotho's creatures while the remainder of her men escaped.

Upon finally trudging out into the light, the heroine was greeted with a sorry sight. The men whose lives she had preserved only moments ago were mostly dead; in their fear and disorientation upon leaving the Den, they had been easy targets for the Lambent above. She fell to her knees, katana buried in the loam, her face twisted by hatred and grief.

Clotho alighted before her, and kicked the blade away before the heroine could draw it and engage her. “Congratulations, monster,” she spat, brushing blonde hair from her eyes, “Your ruthlessness and evil has won you this day. But you will lose the war. Your deeds today will inspire new heroes to take up arms against you. Good will triumph in the end. My only regret is that I won't be around to see it.”

The Stinger flashed out of Clotho's left wrist. It beaded venom, a vile brown brew reluctantly fashioned for her by her new alchemist. “Not true. Today I am going to let you live.”
An incredulous glare was the heroine's response. “Why waste your breath with lies? Kill me and be done with it, or set me free.”
“I'm liking a third option. You will work for me.”
“Why should I...agh!” The woman's eyes went wide as the Stinger was planted in stomach. Immediately, the corrupted life energy spread throughout her body. Her upper body remained mostly unchanged, except for some paling of the skin and growing two chitinous horns. Her lower body, however, morphed into a repulsive mess of shell and skin, twitching and transforming until it was the abdomen, legs, tail, and pincers of a huge scorpion. When the painful polymorph was complete, the heroine ceased her writhing.

Upon seeing herself, she burst out crying, her spirit broken. Clotho beamed. “A complete success! And here I was thinking that the chemist might have been playing me. I honestly thought it wouldn't work and you would die instantly as a repulsive hunk of biomass, but here you are, a real Scorrow!” Invicta raced up to her mistress's side. “Lock her up,” Clotho ordered. “And try not to get stung or kill her in the process. We've beaten our first real hero; I wouldn't want this special occasion soured.”

Status

Location: Oerwood Jungle
Dungeon: Jungle north of Saploya River, N16°W12° An nearly complete, vast hive spanning the length, width, and height of a massive, ancient tree in the jungle. The hive itself is constructed of a magically-created liquid that expands and hardens into a stiff, paperlike substance upon exposure to air. The main body of the hive is suspended by countless support struts that reach for hundreds of feet in every direction. The Dungeon Heart is situated at the very top of the tree. Bugs called Macula infest it, functioning as living security cameras and alarms. Currently has: Dungeon Heart, Myrmidon Den. Living Foundry, Apothecary, Macula infestation, Antlion Colony, Compound of Eyes, Lambent Nest
Forces: 28 Drone Imps, 89 Myrmidons, Myrmidon Construct Invicta, 35 Antlions, 12 Lambents, Adjunct Baudrii, alchemist Rammel Vitreus, alchemical assistant Kayla Oakhurst, Scorrow