Northern Ruins

A kilo diesal submarine surfaced along the coast of the Northernlands, the poison of the land was washed by the tide before being absorbed into the ocean. A trade off, the waters nearby were corrupted but the coast was cleansed of the poison that washed in from inland. A box was raised from the interior of the submarine via electric lift platform. It was place on a collapsable boat and rowed to shore by four men, none of them had flesh, they were machines, full prosthetic bodies.

There was a culvert among the cliffs, and a small shore that served as a landing zone. The box was deposited 50 meters in land, and a timer was set. The men rushed back to the landing craft and returned to their submarine, which dove back into the poisoned brine, gone.

A few minutes later the timer popped, the wooden slapped the ground, revealing a glass pod in a metal stand. The glass cracked, then shattered, releasing a liquid that smelt like paint thinner. A brown slime gurgled loosely as it slid from the broken glass and spread like flat puddle along the tainted ground. Hatred, evil, death, all absorbed into the brown slug flesh, the creature expanded quickly, but instead of growing uncontrolably, it took form.

A product of the research facility in Yaits city. The shape of a withered old man stood alone, brown slugs diving through his rotted flesh like dolphins through water. The moving brown swirls animated him as lower body melted into a brown glob. A 30 kilometers per hour, his slug bottom moved forward while holding his slimey slug eaten torso upright. If Darsh expected a mortal emmisary, he would be in for a surprise.

The creature had a hard time making it to the tower, not a hard time in the sense that a mortal human might have. No, this thing, had a hard time stifling it's urge to feed off the misery and despair that rose from the grave laden earth. It fed, gaining strength, but not to much, it didn't wish to absorb and multiply, it was ordered not to. Unlike the other slugs, this beast had a brain, a human brain that kept it's other urges in check.

It scanned the temple grounds for gaurds before approaching the entrance.

"Knock knock," it said, in a deranged voice, half laughing at it's strange attempt at being polite, "Knock knock."

Darsh Wrote:

There is a reason he sent you though, yes?

"I will be blunt, master wishes the forces of Necropolita to join him in picking apart the bloated carcass of the Gaian Republic. Master wouldn't put it that way, he's a much better diplomat than I, but, that is the way I see it."

The thing paused, running a skeletal finger through its long hair. Its human head was bald at the top, but the hair at its side ran down to its shoulders in greasy lengths of dark brown. It reached inside its gut and pulled out a rolled map, flattening it on the nearest table or other hard surface. The goo from the creatures inside made the map stick fast. It outlined Gaia, the Northern lands in dark grey, Ymiristan in orange, the Aekea region in purple, the gaian republic in green, the mythril mountains and Lament in dark green, and the Strata region in yellow.

"As you can see, the Northern lands provides quite inadequate living space for the undead. Lament would be far more valuble as a necroplis than a city of the living, don't you agree? The undead would yield you enomorous profits in the obsidian mines. Master will make the city yours, and give you the control of the mountains that comes with it if you are interested. Master would like to provide you with advanced technology as well, and sees great potential for....... trade, between us. Does this interest you?"

Darsh waved his hand dismissively. "Another time, perhaps. There wouldn't be time enough to conduct the needed experiments and get it fielded fast enough to make any difference. If Yaits can sieze Lament for me, then he will have himself an ally, and an unstoppable army. Have him send a flare into the sky once the Dark City has been taken, and my army shall arrive."

"Fair enough. We can arrange the transport of goods easily enough, unless your master's base has anything that would dampen or suppress magic, which would pose a problem as to how to transport goods across an entire continent, and likely through enemy territory. I will send an emissary in a week's time. Until then, the Hordes will await the attack. I doubt the people of Lament would link you with undead forces, so you've not much to worry about there. Your master will find that the Hordes are more than capable of overtaking a city when in full force."

"Atten~tion!"

Undead troops all through the Horde ranks snapped to attention immediately. From the shadows, six vampires decked out in plate armor stepped forth. They were officers, commanders, each taking leadership of one of the Horde formations, standing at the head. Another figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing black plate armor with a skull adorning the breastplate and carrying a wicked greatsword across his back. The face underneath the horned helm was a grinning skull with pinpricks of white light glowering from the depths of his hollow eye sockets. The death knight known as the Black General stood before the entire Horde, turning around to greet and acknowledge an even greater presence that was making his appearance.

Darshendros descended from the air upon mottled, tattered wings. The dracolich lit upon the ground before the Black General, folding his wings against his sides and curling his tail around his haunches, sitting down. The Black General, the six vampires, and the undead all rendered a salute. Darshendros dipped his great head in a nod, acknowledging them.

"The time has come for the mortals to be reminded what it is that goes bump in the night. The Dark City of Lament lay just beyond the horizon, the first of many conquests. You will spread the taint of darkness into Lament, and truly turn it into a dark city. Strike fear into the hearts of humanity, and then tear it from their chests!"

Applause rose through the ranks. Darshendros uncoiled his tail and rose up on his hindquarters, spreading his wings and bellowing a thunderous roar. His body shimmered out of focus and then vanished completely, leaving in his place a circular stone gate with runes etched all around it. It was fifty feet tall and wide, and seemed to be floating an inch over the ground. The runes lit up all around the stone ring, filling the inside of it with spiraling arcane energy, opening a portal which showed on the other side the northern gate of Lament.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Once uncovering the bunkers and underground hangars where all of the Old Technology had been buried, the Horde had been put to work to begin restoring it all. It wouldn't take much more than brushing off all the dust and sand, oiling the gears, and running some preliminary checks to ensure all the equipment still worked. That could all be done within a twenty-four hour period. It was the two massive airships uncovered in the hangars that would take another couple of days.

The Draconis - a three-hundred foot long, seventy feet wide monster of an airship, designed to look like a serpentine red dragon flying through the air with it's wings spread open - served as Darsh's flagship on a different world, used mostly for transporting treasure from various spots around that world back to his lair, as well as bombing raids on cities lacking air defenses. When he departed that world and came to Gaia, he brought the airship with him, thinking that one day it could serve a purpose. It did, for a short while, until it had to be grounded for repairs. While the Draconis was undergoing repairs and maintenance, he had another ship built; The Storm Over Gaia. Identical to the Draconis in every way, but colored with shades of blue instead of red, it would've served as a second flagship, until Darshendros decided to have everything buried and sealed away instead.

Moving through tunnels connecting the underground necropolis to the surface like a colony of ants, the crater where the city once stood was rapidly becoming what looked more and more like a staging ground for a war party. The airships stood off far to each side of the crater, still in the dirt-covered hangars they had been stored it, a berm of dug up sand and dirt surrounding them. The Horde were carrying crates of varying sizes from the tunnels, bringing them aboard one airship or the other.

Somewhere, in a dark room, two figures held a conversation.

"I trust the attack is under way."

"It is, but it's not looking good."

"I didn't expect it to. Much has changed since I left. Technology has replaced swords and magic."

"I understand, but how do you expect to win if the Horde is destroyed?"

"With Omega."

"What?! You can't be serious."

"Do not question my will."

"Of course. Forgive me, my master. But who will pilot it?"

"One of the Fourty-four Hundred."

"I understand..."

The cave that the diplomat had been led to led to a series of mazes of tunnels that went deep into the upper Underdark before winding it's way to the city, which was actually a mile or so below the earth underneath the huge crater where it once sat when on the surface. The diplomat was actually brought there magically by the banshee that had met him, otherwise it would have taken several hours of walking in pitch dark tunnels to reach the city. The missiles would blow up chunks of mountain and rock, cause a several cave ins and make many tunnels no longer accessible, reducing the cave to a pile of rubble, but they would never reach the necropolis. However, this did grab the attention of a certain patron deity whom protected it.

Beneath the earth, the vibrations from the multiple explosions could be felt through the rock, but nobody was concerned. It would take some time to reopen those passages, once this little war was over, but for now the alternative ones would have to be used. The infrastrastructure of the cavern remained intact, since the missiles struck far off from the actual city.

"That didn't take long."

"No, it didn't. How will you respond, master?"

"I already have."

"Yarnith, I have a new task for you."

The fat lich appeared in a darkened room with a pale light illuminating only himself. "What is thy bidding, master?"

Another light illuminated a crate before him, marked with "Caution" stamps. "Inside this crate are the remains of Edward Yaits III. His cells are to be regenerated, so that you may create one of your special golems. Anything that turns up missing will be replaced with prosthetics. When the body is ready, I will come to you. Take your time."

Yarnith bowed his head. "I understand, master."

The room darkened completely, and the crate and lich were gone.

Luckily for that small portion of the city, Yarnith's laboratory was in a crypt. The intense corruption of the city, so thickly marinated with negative energy that a living being would die instantly upon stepping foot anywhere near the city, would dampen the destructive effect of the holy blast, and only have a blast radius of half a kilometer. Yarnith would be burnt to a crisp, of course, falling into a pile of ashes and charred remains, along with any weaker undead that happened to be around.

Within the old dusty hangar, the frame of a new airship was being put together, welded by magical flame and sitting upon stones shaped to fit underneath it. The steel came from the mines underground, forged into rods and beams and carried to the surface via the hidden tunnels that led directly to the necropolis. The normal passage was still caved in from the missile attack, but it was being slowly cleared away now. To protect these passages, and the undead working on the surface, walls of stone, twelve-feet high, had been raised around the crater they worked within. Sentries were posted atop it, armed with high-powered crossbows capable of reaching distances up to one-thousand meters. The steel bolts they fired would pack a punch, and at closer distances would be capable of punching through armor.

Meanwhile, efforts were underway within the city to create a new contingent of golems - steel golems. Yarnith had reformed by now, and was leading the efforts for the creation of the golems. The fat lich had already created one of his own. The Horde that had been held in reserve were now the main force, with new undead conscripted to make up another, smaller reserve force. In the meantime, they were only charged with protecting the necropolis, and the workers above.

Darshendros lorded over the whole thing from within the top level of the temple tower, checking on his few Chosen who were outside of the city, performing their selected tasks.

The new airship, Vengeance, was now half complete. Much of the arsenal of the destroyed airships had been reconstructed and improved upon, built onto the new airship. Their circuitry and connectivity to the airship's systems were still being worked on, however. Much of the magitech being used in the construction was experimental, and had yet to be properly tested. The promises in the designs, if all worked accordingly, yielded massive potential though. Wizards from Nezlidrichynn, who specialized in necromancy and the shadow arts, along with some gnome slaves who had proven to be exceptional engineers, had been sent here to assist with the airship's construction. Given the environment, they were all provided with the proper protections to ward them from it's harmful effects while they worked.

"Give me a status report, minion."

The skeletal knight bowed it's helmed head low, kneeling on one knee. "My lord, Lord Valas has sent a small contingent of his wizards and some of their slaves to aid in the building efforts. The gnomes have proven to be quite useful, when given the right motivation. It will still be some time before Vengeance is operation-ready."

"What of the other projects?"

"My lord, we have dug up all of the old technology we can, but more than half of it is beyond repair. We have salvaged what parts we can from them to put into other equipment. However, we still lack any power sources to draw from for the weapons."

"Let the drow handle that problem. I have no doubt that they have what we seek. Return to your master, and tell him to carry on as usual. That is all."

"Understood, my lord." The skeletal knight rose to it's feet and did an about face, then marched away.

"Lilith."

Yes, my lord, the air whispered, as the ghostly form of the half-drow priestess appeared, wavering in the air.

"Give me a foot massage."

At once, my lord.

A lone flying serpant fitted for recon flew 10,000 meters above ground level into northernlands, over the area were the Necropolis was pinpointed to be underground. It's mission was to check for suspicous activity over enenmy territory, and take plenty of pictures. Coordinates of any development on the surface could be sent back to Western Republics Military Command immediatly via communications sattelites.

Despite political chaos, Western Republic was still at war.

The engineers of the ambitious Necromon project discovered a fatal flaw in their design. A city built into the walls of a descending tunnel that led to an underground necropolis would be very vulnerable to attack from the air. Taking the past attacks against the recently cleared main tunnels for example, it would be a simple task for a bomb to be precisionly dropped into the middle of Necromon and collapse the entire structure. Taking that concern into consideration, twelve liches gathered together to create and form a powerful combination of spells to protect and hide the city.

Combining their spells, they would create a layered, protective dome of force and prismatic energy over the city. Magical wards would be in place so that only those chosen few who ventured out of the cities on a regular basis would have knowledge, the required artifact which would be later created, and access to where the hidden entrances would be. Anyone who was otherwise would be rendered permanently insane, fearful, weakened, or all of them combined, or dead. Magical transportation into the city would be impossible without a certain artifact which would later be created, but transportation out of the city would still be possible. Magical transportation attempted into the city without the artifact would send them elsewhere in the wastes of the Northernlands, within a thousand-foot radius of the city. Scrying attempts upon the city, whether magical or technological, would be impossible.

The city would lastly be veiled in illusions, making it all seem to vanish in thin air. There would be nothing but endlessly ruined landscape that looked like the rest of the Northernlands. The effect only affected perception from outside of the city, but once inside all would be normal. These spells, their research and preparation, their casting, and the permanency effects placed upon them, would take approximately twenty-four hours to complete. The spells of illusion would have to be recharged everyday, since they could not be made permanent effects, but it would only take one of the twelve liches to recharge them each time.

Spells used: Wall of Force, Prismatic Wall, Alarm, Mage's Private Sanctum, Phase Door, Symbol of Insanity, Symbol of Fear, Symbol of Weakness, Symbol of Death, Dimensional Lock, Screen, Mirage Arcana

The boy was trembling slightly. This entire place that he'd been brought to scared him. Everything was dark and dead. He did feel better now that he was clean and fully dressed, but it wasn't enough to take away the fear of his current situation.

He'd been very nervous to meet his new master, but dispite how terrifying the world he'd been brought to was, he still hopeful that his new master would, at the very least, be kinder than hs last. Maybe at the very least he wouldn't be quite as fond of torturing and mutilating him.

His eye went down to the floor when his master was clearly displeased with his appearance. Damaged goods. Deformed. Yes, he'd heard it all before. He knew that he was ugly. People cringed when they looked at him.

He looked back up at his master when he put his hand on the side of his face. It was so cold. He was nervous as he took a closer look at the scarred side of his face, which he usually tried to keep hidden as much as possible with his hair.

After the question was asked it took the boy a moment to find his voice, but he quietly answered him "My name is Kalen...sir."

Kalen found himself relaxing slightly at what his new master said. True, the threat of expieriencing torments like he had never felt before should he displease him was unsettling, but it seemed that he would only be punished if he did something wrong, so if he did his best things shouldn't be too bad.

"Yes, Master." He said when Alexander finished speaking to him. He followed the deadite obediantly when he led him away to his quarters.

Most people would probably have been disapointed in such a dreary room, but Kalen could hardly believe his luck. The bed was dusty and old, but it was still a bed, and if he shook out the blanket it would probably be quite comfortable, at the very least extremely comfortable compared to the cramped cage he'd slept in previously.

He wasn't expecting that he'd have it easy here, but there were certainly some bright points to this dark world. Maybe they'd even be able to fix his face.

As soon as he was left alone in his room he set to getting some of the dust out of his bed, and found himslef smiling slightly.

For a split second Kalen a hand against the cloth that was tied over the place where his eye used to be, but he brought it down. It would be defying his master to make any effort to block the empty socket.

"Yes Master." He answered quietly.

Shaking slight, he took a deep breath and layed down on the bed. He told himself that the cloaked figure was just there to help, even though it made him incredibly uncomfortable for someone to be poking around there.

As much as it hurt, Kalen was grateful that it was being done. He hated the way his face looked. It scared him when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, it was a horrible reminder of what he had gone through. He also hated the way it made everyone look at him, or worse, the way it made everyone not look at him. Like the way his face was mangled made him inhuman.

The Fleshcrafter was right though, he was very used to pain. When he was with his old master he knew two completely opposite moods that he would be in when he was hurting him, one would be where he wanted to hear the boy's cries of pain as loud as they could go, and Kalen knew that any pain he felt he would just let it all out as loudly as he could. There were other times though, where any sound that he made would be punished, and he kept himself as still and quiet as he could, in spite of the pain.

The latter was the method that he chose for while the Fleshcrafter was working on his face. His hands gripped the blanket underneath him tightly, and occasionally the quietest of whimpers would escape him, but he kept himself as still and quiet as he could, and just kept telling himself that it couldn't possibly last forever, even if it felt like it would.

Jadow was sitting in his room -- pfah! his den -- in the Nightlund Tower, enjoying a brief moment of relative sanity. As he made a pointless effort to clean under his ragged nails with -- what was it? A shard of bone? He was not so sure of things. His split tongue flickered out to dampen his lips, which were quartered with three vertical black lines. Said lips peeled back into their characteristic snarl, revealing that the black tattoos were continued over his gums, and that he had filed away his now yellowing teeth to wide-spaced sharklike points. Now, imagine the camera panning out to reveal Jadow in his full mutilated glory. His ears are cut away, but for the tragus and lobes, and from these hang heavy gold rings. His temples are shaven, and thrice-scarred on either side. Indeed his whole head is shaven and polished, save for a thick strip, a long flowing mane of snowy white down the back of his skull. Underneath his rag bindings, his build is large, but not quite so large as he often seems. Maybe the threefold scars running along his forearms are visible through a gap in the tattered fabric wound about his arms.

The room he is in can only be described as filthy. It is not merely messy, or any variation on that theme -- although it is that as well, with everything strewn about will-ye, nill-ye, broken and uncared for. It is truly filthy, like somehwere a wild has lived for some time. In his saner moments, Jadow wonders why he is allowed to remain in this room in the tower.

He flicked the bone shard across the room and spits over his shoulder onto the floor. He was musing upon the fact that he is not yet dead. He should be, by now: he has been in this forsaken place long enough.

With no answers, he settled back, and waited to be called.

Kalen let out a sigh of exhausted relief when the fleshcrafter was finished with what he was doing to his face. One thing was certain, the entire procedure had hurt like hell. The whole side of his face was throbbing. Aside from the fact that it would make him look normal again, the only thing he could be thankful for was that it had only lasted for half an hour. Half an hour was certainly no small amount of thime to feel the constant ripping at the flesh of his face, but he had gone through much longer tortures than that. It was horrible, but he consoled himself with the fact that it could have been much worse.

He nodded slightly as the Fleshcrafter gave him instructions and wrapped his face up in the gauze. He'd keep the bandages on for a week, leaving it entirely alone, as he had been told. Even with his face still throbbing painfully, he couldn't help but look forward to his face looking the way it had before his master had mutilated it. Even without his eye there it would be a huge improvement.

When he was left alone in his room, Kalen got up, removed his shoes, socks, and shirt, then turned down the blankets of the bed and got under them, preparing for a much needed rest, as he had been instructed to. As he started to drift off to sleep Kalen wondered what his life here would be like. It was looking a bit bleak, but at least he wasn't still with his last master. Things could always be much worse.

The door to Valas' study opened as the wraith introduced Jadow. Valas was sitting behind his desk, waiting for the crazed necromancer. Valas had no traces of flesh remaining on his body. He was a skeleton in wizard robes, with a jeweled, many-spired gold crown atop his skull, marking him clearly as a lich. Crimson pinpoints of light glowered from the depths of his empty eye sockets. His robe looked expensive, made of some fine fibers, in shades of black and dark red. A collared mantle covered his shoulders, decorated in runes and arcane sigils. Each of the bony digits on his hands had a ring of some sort, still turning the pages of the journal Valas had been pouring over for a while now.

"Take a seat, Jadow. I have an assignment for you," Valas said without looking up from the pages of the journal.

The lichdrow finally stopped turning pages, his dark, grinning skull tilting up to turn undead eyes to Jadow.

"I want you to investigate an area of the Mithral Mountains called Sorrow's Keep," Valas began explaining, "According to the writings of this journal, its ruins seem to be haunted, and possibly occupied by undead. I would like you to see if there is anyone controlling these undead, and if it wold be possible to set up some sort of route of travel between the city and Sorrow's Keep as an alternate route of bypassing Lament."

"You will communicate with me via this ring," Valas opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a small silver ring, engraved with small, intricate words of magic, holding it out for Jadow to take. "T'is a Ring of Sending, so your messages cannot be too long, and you can only use it once a day. I expect to hear from you daily once you've arrived at Sorrow's Keep. Any questions?"

Valas brought his bony hands together in front of him, touching his fingers together in a steeple. "With the construction of Necromon going on, there are not many we can spare at the time, but you may be allowed one or two to go with you. I would suggest that if you bring any undead with you, that you don't make it known to anyone who may be watching you that you are in the company of walking dead. Mortals don't take kindly to our lot. Disguise them in whatever fashion you see fit."

Kalen got out of bed. He'd been sleeping for quite some time, he had no real way of knowing how long exactly, because it was always dark here. He didn't know if it was night or day when he had fallen asleep or if it was night or day now. It was odd, but he supposed that it would be something he would get used to in tim.

He pulled his shirt back on, being careful of the bandages on the side of his face, then put his shoes back on and quickly left his room to find his master. He didn't seem like the type that it would be wise to keep waiting.

"Thank you..." Kalen said quietly to the deadite when he told him where he could find his master. This place was big, and there were a million places where he could have been. He thought if he wandered around looking for him he was sure to get lost and keep him waiting, which would certainly make him angry.

Kalen nervously opened the door to Alexander's chambers and stepped in, keeping his eye down at the floor as the door shut behind him. "You wanted to see me, Master?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, my lord," Jadow hissed. He took the conversation to be finished, so he rose, and backed out the door of the study.

Kalen nodded obediantly as his master steered him over to the mirror to remove the bandages and look at his face. He had nearly forgotten what his face looked like before it had been mangled, and was nervous, though a little bit excited. He was also nervous, however, because this was only the second time that he had been in the presence of his new master and he was afraid that he would anger him. His previous master had been not only easy to anger, but incredibly difficult not to anger. He didn't know whether or not Alexander would be any different.

He watched the mirror with interest as his bandages were peeled away. The skin was so smoothe and even, not lumpy and discolored. He remembered the way people had looked at him when he was on display the first time, so long ago, and how the price on him had been so high that his master was the only one there that could afford him. As frightened as he'd been, he couldn't help but be amazed by how much they thought he was worth.

He truly was a very beautiful young man now that the scars were gone, even with the eye still missing. He found himself smiling slighty at his face as it used to be, it was almost like seeing a friend that he hadn't seen in a very very long time.

"I feel very good Master." He said quietly.

Kalen nodded. "Yes Master." He said quietly, then followed his instructions, heading out of his master's chambers and heading towards the chapel to find out what his duties would be.

Whatever he was expected to do he would do the very best he could do, and perform all of his chores eagerly and happily. He didn't mind working. It was much better to be expected to work and have his own room to go to when he was done than what he'd been with his previous master: just a toy, kept in a very small cage when he wasn't being played with.

Kalen looked at the broom in his hand, wishing that he had recived more instruction on how he was supposed to clean and how much time he had. As he had not recived any such instruction he decided that the best he could do was get as much cleaning done as quickly as he could, and if it wasn't good enough by the time mass started he'd just have to beg for mercy. The place was in a horrible state. Was it even possible for one person to get it spotless?

He started by sweeping the floor, which was quite a task in itself. He was going to mop as well, but when he saw the state of the water he was given he decided it would be rather counterproductive. He located an old cloth which he dampenned slightly with the murky water and used it to wipe off all of the pews and alters and such.

(Umm I don't know how much time he had so I don't know how much he would manage to get done)

Kalen looked up with a jolt of fear, sweat forming on his brow from how hard he was working to clean up the chapel. The man, or whatever he was, that was up by the alter was likely the most terrifying person that he had ever seen in his life. He hadn't even been in his presence five minutes and he already feared him more than he had ever feared his old master.

"I-I'm doing the best I can to get it clean...sir." He said quietly, his voice almost failing to get the words out, his hands shaking as he held the handle of the broom.

Kalen was frozen on the spot. His master was going to kill him? He'd be just another undead creature in this frightening world before too long? Was the man telling the truth?

He jumped slightly as Alexander came in, afraid of what the consequenses would be since Alexander had come in and found him not working. "I was cleaning, Master...and...then a man in black with white hair and black eyes was sitting on the altar...he spoke to me...then...he disapeared when you came in...I'm sorry, Master, I'll get right back to cleaning." He said, imediately continuing his efforts to clean the chapel.

He thought about what the man in black had told him, that he should ask for his master to take his life so he could become like him. He wondered if that would be something that his master would like. If his master was planning on doing it anyway.

Well either way, now was not the time to bring it up, he had a whole chapel to clean.

"You won't, Master, I promise." he said quickly as he continued cleaning up the chapel as quickly and effectively as he could. He knew that if he was caught not working again he was going to be in big trouble. With a shudder he remembered what Alexander had told him when he was first brought in, that if he ever displeased him he would give him torments unlike he had ever expeirienced before.

Kalen didn't know who the man in black was, but he scared him a lot. He really hoped he wasn't going to come back, not only becuase of how he scared him, but also because he didn't want to risk being caught not working again. If he did come back, Kalen would just have to keep on working no matter what.

And God said let there be light...

From high above the city, past the earth that separated it from the rest of the world, hovering majestically somewhere in the middle of the Northernlands, rested Michael. His eyes were open, but one wouldn't be able to tell where his gaze was directed because they flared a pure white flame. His flesh was pale, but with an etherial glow surrounding the finely sculpted physique that made him look suitably angelic.

A passionate smile crossing his face, the 'man' (since angels were androgynous, but he looked quite male), would reach with his right hand to the hilt of the sword that rested as his left hip. Aside from the belt that held the sheath of his blade, the angel wore single thonged sandals and a flowing, almost skirt-like loincloth that went down to his knees. Around his left forearm was a shining bracer of an unknown metal. With a sharp click and resounding shing, Michael would draw his blade, the sword granted to him from the infinite armory of the Lord setting aflame immediately as it was withdrawn, painting a firey line across the barren sky.

Rearing back his right arm, gripping the sword tightly, Michael would focus on a point in the ground. With a faint grin and a haunting multi-voiced roar, he would swing downwards directly for the earth, a tornado of fire issuing from the point of the blade and piercing the surface with ease, burrowing straight through the stone and bones and earth and bursting out the other side, right through the ceiling of Necropolita II. Despite the barriers and magical wards the unholy city held, nothing could resist the will of God Himself, and following his fire Michael would dive headfirst into the hole he'd created, his six wings flaring out behind him as he entered into the bounds of the city, loose feathers falling off gently and dispering into nothing.

Guided by the light of his Lord, Michael would swiftly make his way towards his prey, sparks of fire flying off the sword as more feathers fell off the wings, the city's aura affecting the angel's ability to manifest itself in this earthly realm. However, even at half strength he'd have more than enough power to defeat the beast he'd been set against. And lo, he'd be upon the creature, his light shining valiantly despite the lack of hope and bright in the underdark.

"Amen," an odd thing to say, considering things were just beginning.

But truly was this the hammer of God, and nothing could resist it.

If Michael had more human-like emotions, he might've smiled at the sentiment implied by the tombstone, but certain matters of what it took to actually destroy or 'kill' an angel would cause the humour to be lost on his most innocent of minds. For truly, while it was his task to purge the most evil of evils from God's favoured plain, he could not comprehend their thoughts or actions, he could not understand evil. This fact had made the Morningstar's revolt all the more disturbing, but that was another tale.

Sadly, for the same reason the tomb lost its effect on the angel, so also did he fail to take part in the most basic of heroic rites, the offering of any last words. He had already said all he'd needed to say, and now Tombs needed to die... again. So ignoring all that irony, the angel would swoop in, bringing the blade up over his left shoulder to swipe horizontally across the zombie's waist, cleaving him in two.

Satisfied, Michael would fly past, turning around midflight to survey his work. Frowning at the thing's apparent ability to continue functioning, he'd soon be blanketed with a torrent of flies. Unaffected by their presense physically (the one's touching him would burst into flames as a minor unholy presence conflicted with a major holy one), he would still be distracted visually, and would point his sword out in front of him. Squinting with concentration, the blade would flare even brighter, its flames extending to encompass all the insects around him, all of them dropping like flies.

No pun intended, Michael didn't know how to make jokes.

He'd swoop down again, this time with a precise upwards vertical swing along Tombs' centerline.

A furious expression would find its way across Michael's face. While some of the more complex feelings failed him, he could easily understand frustration, and a simple monster such as Tombs shouldn't be causing him all this trouble. Like it'd been said, he was the hammer, a tool of irresistable force. One swing and it should be done.

So all these insects attempting to cover him were desperately annoying.

The bugs would still be burnt away, but the angel would feel more their contact with his being. He didn't have anything to speak of organs or human-like sensory functions, so even if the creatures invaded his flesh, it'd just mean they were closer to his sheer essence, and thus quicker to perish and be expelled through his holy flesh. Still, he saw with his eyes when the light of God wasn't completely with him, and they insisted on blinding him.

Attempting once more to finish this with one fatal blow, he'd raise his sword, aiming for the hole in the ground that signified Tombs final resting place. Unfettered by the insects, he'd just concentrate on this one point, swinging his blade downwards in a blow quite similar to the one with which he'd entered the underdark, but with many degrees less force.

Michael's wings would spread out straight as the angel dropped, standing at the foot of the grave with the sword held in both hands, raised over his head. The birds would tear away at his flesh, bits of golden 'blood' seaping from the open wounds as his hair frayed and his eyes tore open, the white flame contained inside them burning straight forwards like fire from a blowtorch.

But even as the wounds were opened they swiftly closed up again, the viscuous golden fluid sucking up back inside the holes, hairs re-issuing from his scalp as quickly as they were torn out. Like Satan had healed after Michael cut a hole in his side, so did each scratch repair itself with ease. The pain was immense, but God was still with His angel, and He had yet to forsake him.

The flames engulfing the entire sword and most of Michael's arms, the angel would stab downwards.

The blast itself would be seen as a soft white light through the hole he'd made in the earth.

Like he'd said, Amen.

Smiling with some sort of inner pride at being able to complete God's work, Michael would flap his wings towards the earth, propelling himself swiftly upwards. With some effort, he'd rocket up and out of the hole he'd made, exiting through it with a flash of white light and something that sounded like the ringing of a bell as he sheathed his sword. Holding his arms at his sides, he'd continue up and up through the atmosphere, disappearing into a cloud and never coming out of it.

The Lord's will be done.

"Well I gotta do my best, if my Master comes in and I'm not working again I'll be in big trouble." Kalen said. He just glanced up at the alter, not really needing to confirm what he knew, that it was the same very creepy man that had been talking to him before. He just kept right on cleaning.

He honestly didn't know how he was expected to clean this entire place up all by himself, but if he did his very best to get it clean then no reasonable man would punish him for it.

Kalen nodded silently in reply. He noticed that the man had read his mind, but he wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't merely imagining this man. He knew that Alexander was not a man. As far as being reasonable, well, he was at the very least more reasonable than his previous master had been, so he didn't really understand what the problem was. Would he really treat him horribly if he didn't have the place spotless in time, even if he had done his very best?

"Well, do you have any ideas on how I can get it clean faster?" He asked quietly, a bit of hope in his voice. If he had been critisizing the way he had been cleaning it then maybe he had the answer that would save him from a major lecture, or much worse, a severe beating, or who knew what horrible things his master would do to him?

From scorched earth, once a grave, what could be considered life stirred again. A spade tip broke free of the ground's confines as a corpse levered himself up. Dressed in a new suit of tattered rags, the black torn Victorian suit.

Smacking the bottom of his hat, it extended fully and Tombs placed it on his head. Now that he came back from time spent resting, he could go wherever.

Not your average zombie.

Alexander walked in about ten minutes later. He didn't say anything, just looked around at the progress of Kalen's work. He was curious as to how he managed to mop the floor with that brakkish water, but upon inspecting the mop bucket, he discovered there to be actual water in there - albeit dirty water now after having been used.

"Where'd you get this water?" Alex asked, still looking into the bucket.

Alexander raised a brow in interest. He had spoken to Master Valas after he had last checked on Kalen, and the archlich knew nothing about any of his mages coming to the temple for any reason, nor had any of them admitted to as much. There wouldn't really be much reason for any of them to visit the temple in the first place, let alone to bother Alex's slave boy.

And then it hit him, like a ton of bricks.

"The man... in black." Alexander stepped back, looking up at the dragon statue that loomed over the alter.

"The Black Mage!" he gasped. He suddenly ran over and grabbed Kalen by the shoulders, gripping his tightly and shaking him a little. "The Black Mage blessed you with his presence?! What did you do?! What did He say to you?! You must tell me now!"

It made no sense why his patron god would appear before Kalen, unless Kalen was marked for some special cause. But he was only a human, and still mortal, at that. What role could he possibly play? These questions, and more, rolled through Alex's mind as he looked at Kalen.

Alexander, still holding Kalen by the shoulders, turned him so that he could look upon the dragon statue at the head of the chamber, looking down upon them as if it would come to life at any second now and pounce them. Alexander didn't verbally answer the question, as he had a dozen of his own rolling over in his mind. He simply bowed his head and began to pray, bringing his hands away from the boy's shoulders to clasp them around his amulet.

Draconis-Class Command Airship - Vengeance

Necropolita, Northern Gaia

Time frame: Prior to events in West Fall City

The Trinity appeared inside of an empty hangar bay with Wildfire between them, bound at the wrists and ankles with rings of energy. He was still weak and exhausted, but would get an energy boost and a full rejuvination as the energy rings were removed. He glanced around, getting his bearings, but there was nothing he could use to identify where he was. Steel walls, all around.

"Where am I?" he growled.

"That is none of your concern," Shen said, standing before him. "I would suggest not calling your girlfriend to come to your rescue again, or we might not be so nice to her next time."

"You are only delaying the inevitable," Dros stated, standing behind him.

"Why are you doing this?!" he yelled, turning toward Dros, clenching his fists. "I have done nothing to you people! What do you want? Is my father involved in this?"

"He's closer than you think," said Dar, standing next to Shen.

"What do you know of my father?!"

Dros walked over to join Shen and Dar, the three of them smiling at Wildfire. Their forms suddenly faded, turning semi-transparent, like a ghost, and they merged together.

"I am your father," they said as the merging completed itself, and Darshendros appeared before him.

Wildfire felt his breath caught in his throat, staggering back a step. "No," he pleaded, "It's not possible... NOOOOOOOO~!"

"Good," Dar said, backpedaling and moving his hands to block Wildfire's flurry of punches. He blurred away from his last attack and came in from the side, but Wildfire was ready this time. He ducked under the punch and brought his fist up with an uppercut, striking Dar on the chin and sending him flying up into the air. Wildfire leaped up and spun around with a kick to Dar's gut, launching him through the air. He stopped himself in mid-air and floated down to the ground.

"Very good, indeed," he said again, "You are now ready for the next part of your training."

Wildfire put his hands on his knees, catching his breath and dripping with sweat. Shen stepped up, holding Dragonblade in his hand, bringing it down by his side as he stood before Wildfire. "Call your weapon," he said.

Gritting his teeth, Wildfire stood straight at glanced at Dragonblade. He held out his hand and willed it to come to him, but even after straining his mind, found the sword not budging from Shen's grasp.

"Not this weapon." Shen nodded toward the wall behind Wildfire. Turning around, he found it lined with racks of weapons, of all shapes and sizes. When did this get here, he wondered.

"Shen," called Dros.

"I know. Tsk," Shen shook his head, looking at Wildfire, whom turned around to regard him again. "Such a fool, you are."

Damn! he thought, clenching his fist. They had been keeping tabs on his thoughts the entire time.

Lenne Misao Wrote:

Lenne had locked onto where the three men had taken Wildfire, with another flash of black in her eyes she vanished.

Moments later she was in the room Wildfire was being trained in, at the moment she stayed in a mist form watching hidden in the shadows making sure to shield her presense from the three. For now she would watch and wait for the best moment to make her next move, mind you Wildfire seemed to be doing quite well. But he was still hurt and these guys had kidnapped him, so she still was going to take him from their grasp.

Lenne would play the waiting game making sure to stay hidden and mask her presense to them, her eyes took in all before her. Watching the three silver haired men and Wildfire, those damn men.

Shen smirked confidently and cocked back his right arm, pulling back Dragonblade. He lunged in and thrust the sword forward, twisting the right side of his body forward and extending his arm to its fullest reach. Wildfire recognized the attack; Shen had run him through with it on their first bout. He sidestepped to the left, raising his sword as he began to turn his body. Shen, compensating for Wildfire's movement, turned his blade to the edge was facing toward him, and swung out to slash across his mid-section, but the blade clashed against Wildfire's. He turned around as Shen passed behind him, swinging his sword out to the back of Shen's skull. He heard Shen gasp as the blade connected, and the force of his strike sent him off balance, sending him tumbling to the floor.

"Excellent!" Shen said, rising back to his feet immediately.

Then Wildfire would suddenly go flying back through the air as he was hit in the chest by a giant, transparent fist. He lost his grip on his sword as he went through the air, crashing to the ground and rolling to a stop against the back wall - next to where Lenne was hiding.

"I thought we told you not to call out to your girlfriend," Dros said, approaching Wildfire. He stopped about ten feet away, flicking his gaze to Lenne and waving his hand. She would suddenly become solid and visible. "Damn children. They never listen."

Wildfire looked up and saw her suddenly, springing to his feet. "Lenne!"

Lenne Misao Wrote:

Lenne watched seeing the great moves Wildfire pulled out towards the man who was fighting him, she was impressed. Was she doing the right thing, with thinking of taking him away? Afterall he seemed to be getting alot of training, of course she was. These men seemed interested in hurting him and why did they kidnap him if they wanted to train him, could they not of just asked.

Seeing Wildfire land a very good hit on the man, it made a big smile appear on her lips. Nice one she thought, then she saw Wildfire come flying back and roll to land against the wall next to where she was hiding. Then she heard the other man speak, what the hell. How did he know she was there? As the man approached then stopped ten foot away, suddenly with a flickering of his gaze Lenne slim curved form re-appeared. Becoming solid and visible to them all.

"******** you assholes..Wildfire.."

As Wildfire sprang to his feet and spoke her name, just as she had finished speaking she would quickly wrap her arms around him then they would both vanish. She would take him to back to his cave, hopefully they would be safe there. Lenne had made sure to cover her trail so hopefully 'The Triad' would not follow, she had no chance of beating them at the moment and wanted to take care of Wildfire first.

"It is time."

The tunnels of Necromon echoed the reverberating hum of engines, rattling windows from the sheer volume of it. A shadowy distortion emitted from the engines of the airship, Vengeance, bringing it to life as it suddenly began to hover on its own accord. Lights flashed and blinked through the hull, and the many turrets moved back and forth in function tests. The airship was finally fully operational.

Vengeance rose out of the hole Necromon was built in, keeping low to the ground as it approached the wall. The sigils on the hull served the same purpose as the keystones given to individuals, in that the entire airship could pass through it without the magical dome having to be taken down. As soon as it passed through the wall, it would rise up into the air, circling around the domed structure as it rose up higher.

The massive airship had one-hundred times the power of its previous two predecessors, as well as much more firepower and deployable support craft. Vengeance was the size of a luxury cruise ship, more or less, but her engines, created through a merging of necromancy and machines, provided a near-limitless supply of energy. Vengeance, and the airships that would come after her, would make up Necropolita's developing air fleet, but for now this would just be its maiden voyage and field test.

A target had already been picked out for Vengeance's test run. It was a hastily built structure to the north that was meant to simulate a hardened target. As the airship approached, illusory jets swooped down through the sky toward Vengeance, meant to defend the target. Venegance unleashed a volley of firepower from the turrets and cannons along its hull, utterly destroying the jets, even though they were mere illusions.

"We're in position, Captain."

"Target the building and fire a Necron Torpedo."

Like a homing missile, the Necron Torpedo locks on to living energy and flies through the air to utterly destroy it. It fired from the front of the airship, from one of the six torpedo tubes, streaking through the air like a shooting star and descending upon the building. Inside were several mortal slaves, bound and gagged to serve as targets. The torpedo punched through the wall of the building and detonated inside, levelling the structure.

"Target destroyed. Test mode disengaged."

Vengeance turned back and returned to Necromon's dock on the top level.

KillerSumo Wrote:

"Right," Dr. Iskugawa said, doing exactly as he was told, he knew for better or worse, his fate was sealed.

Soon it would be off to the Northernlands.

Darkness enveloped them, twisting the landscape and warping it, turning everything into shades of gray. They were on the Plane of Shadow. The drow tugged his arm, pulling him along, and the landscape blurred past them. Travel on the Fringe was different than on the Material Plane. A single step could take one miles. It wouldn't be long before they reached the mountains, and beyond that, the Northernlands. The darkness seemed to increase as they approached the necropolis. The walls of Necromon could be seen clearly, and shadowy wraiths circled the skies overhead. One saw them and started swooping down toward them, but then colors suddenly flooded back into the world. The walls of the necropolis vanished as they returned to the Material Plane, and the drow released Iskugawa's hand.

"Follow me," he said, stepping forward. Where once there was empty space, a doorway opened, revealing what lie behind the walls.

Necromon, the Upper City.

The assassin didn't respond. He simply kept on walking, tuning out the human's babbling. He didn't care what the doctor's intentions were; as soon as he was shown to the engineering level, his job would be complete and he could go back to more important duties. Sometimes he hated being the Dragon's right hand... or claw.

There were sparse few builsing behind the towering wall, which could now be seen visibly now that they were on the other side. A dome of prismatic energy covered the city, protecting it from aerial attack and surveillance attempts. In the center was a great hole, the perimeter of which was surrounded by several elevator shafts, one of which the drow led Dr. Iskugawa into. Once he stepped inside, he would push a button and they would begin their descent into Necromon.

The upper city was built into the earthen walls of the gaping chasm, with honeycomb structures that housed various different functions of a working city. The top level was basically a staging area, with barracks, armory, and wide open spaces for troops to form up. Just a few levels below that would be the engineering bays, where the newly built airship, Vengeance (refer to earlier posts), was docked and undergoing some maintenance. There the elevator would stop. There the drow would be done with his escorting duties.

"This is where we part," he said before suddenly vanishing.

Awaiting him was a short, thin, pale-skinned gnome, with black beady eyes and gray hair. He wore oil-stained overalls and a hardhat, holding a monkey wrench in his gloved right hand. He too wore the same amulet Dr. Iskugawa wore, meaning he was still mortal - for now.

"Itakeityou'rethenewmemberofourgloriouscrew!" the gnome rapidly said, beaming, "Thename's... WelleveryonejustcallsmeCid. Comequickwedon'thaveallday!"

"Followmethereismuchtoshowyou," Cid said, waving him along to follow him as he began walking.

As they walked, Cid talked - very rapidly. It would be a feat if Iskugawa actually followed along with everything the gnome said, but it wouldn't be hard to get the gist of it. The airship, Vengeance, looked to be the most advance piece of weaponry they had available. There were a few firearms and artillery pieces here and there, but they looked to have been salvaged from whatever civilization used to occupy the Northernlands before it turned into a wasteland, and then into a cesspool of evil energy, or from encounters in the Northernlands from militaristic human recon outfits. There were also a few machines with Magitek logos on them as well - the most noticable of them being the Ride Armors - formerly property of an industrial giant that fused magic and technology together which seemed to have vanished off the face of Gaia suddenly.

The majority of Necropolita's war machine, however, consisted of medeival weaponry and armor, but with powerful magicks backing it up it was still a force to be reckoned with. The undead troops numbered in the thousands, with some complex siege weaponry and towering golems and other constructs of varying designs. Dr. Iskugawa wouldn't have any trouble at all deducing how to vastly improve the necropolis' military might.

Cid concluded the tour by showing Dr. Iskugawa Vengeance, Necropolita's pride and joy. If he remembered the undead invasion of Ymiristan, he would remember the two airships, Draconis and The Storm Over Gaia, that attacked the city along with the undead hordes. Vengeance was bigger, badder, and clearly more adept at addressing the problems which led to the destruction of its two predecessors. Of course, Cid didn't go into the details of the airship, such as the source of its limitless power supply and the full firepower of the airship. He was still on a probational status, afterall.

"Anyquestions?"

Cid was impressed. The doctor knew what he wanted. The gnome followed along with Iskugawa's requests, nodding and taking down notes to pass on to the higher-ups. Everything would be set up for him in a couple of days; in the meantime, Iskugawa was welcome to wander about the upper-city freely, but he was not permitted to enter Necropolita below. As for the specifications on the airship, Cid didn't have the authority to hand it out so freely. He would have to receive authorization from the archlich, Valas Zauviir, who put together the generator for the engines himself.

A laboratory was set up for him on one of the lower levels of the city, where it was less crowded and transporting undead from the necropolis was much easier. There, he would have access to everything he requested for, including an abundant supply of cadavers to experiment on. Mortal subjects were in limited supply however, so he would have to make due with the one or two that were sent his way now and then. Iskugawa would be given free room and board for however long it would take him to complete everything on his list, though he was going to have to get used to eating and drinking magically conjured food and drink. It was still edible, and would provide the same nutrients real food and drink provided, but it lacked a certain flavor that they had.

Later, Cid would come by with a large scrollcase, containing the specs of the airship's generator. It was a hexagonal cage with tubes attached to it, where the energy would be output through to the entire ship, but the source of the energy itself would probably be unlike anything Iskugawa has ever heard of before. Basically, the cage was a containment unit, holding inside a direct conduit to the Negative Energy Plane. With the way the cage was designed, with all the runes and spells placed upon it, it kept the destructive dark energies from pouring out wildly and destroying everything, and instead channelled it through the tubes and throughout the ship, powering her systems, weapons, engines, and everything else. What that all meant was, the airship was powered by death magic. It was an endless supply of energy. However, were the ship ever to be caught within an anti-magic field, it would lose all power and crash. Counter-measures had been built into the ship's systems to detect any such fields before flying into them though, and the ship was so massive in size that it would take an anti-magic field they size of a football stadium to knock out the entire ship at once.

Iskugawa's request would be approved. The work he had done in the short time he has been here impressed the archlich, Valas Zauviir, which meant that the high priest was also impressed, who was more or less the official ruler of the realm, though everyone knew the former pulled all the strings. Orders were already sent out to test the new equipment and get them mass-produced. The runes would be reserved for the upper echelon troops - the intelligent undead. Skeletons and zombies were but cannon fodder, but the vampires and necromancers that controlled them would make better use of the protection. Without them in command, the hordes just become mindless, ravaging, even berserk.

A port had to be hastily built to receive the ships. With work around the clock, it would take no more than a short week to have docks in place and warehouses to store the supplies until transports could be arrange to pick them up. Unfortunately, since the ships needed to see the docks to make port, they would not be treated to the same magical protections that the necropolis was subject to. They would be out in the open, but they would be closely watched. There were plenty of hidden tunnels and portals to use to hastily defend the port if needed. The supplies would arrive in a day's time after being received from the ships, and no sooner at Iskugawa's doorstep.

The corpses of those were were still in one piece were reanimated by necromancers and immediately put into work. The others, whether the bodies were too broken or just didn't look like they would do any good, were fed to those who feasted on flesh. Freshly dead flesh was just as good as living. As for the living subjects, they were herded into caged pens like the cattle they were, but would not be protected against the debilitating effects of the Desecration. They were kept alive though, too weak to attempt any kind of escape, let alone fight the armor-clad guards posted to guard them around the clock. They weren't there to keep them from escaping, but rather to keep those ravenous monsters who hungered for the flesh of the living from consuming them. That would be bad for business, afterall.

Another ship docked at the newly-made port. It was a cruise ship, recently hijacked by a gang of undead skeletons as it was making its trip from Isle de Gambino to Durem. The dead were likewise reanimated or thrown to the hungry. The ship was looted of every valuable object onboard, and then gutted. This would become the first of many ships of what would eventually become Necropolita's navy, but that was still a long time in the making. For now, the gutted cruise ship would be converted into a transport ship, crewed by the dead, sailing the seas and attacking other ships like pirates, bringing back the dead. It would make for a steady flow of carcasses, at least until ships stopped sailing the northern channels.

Sometime later, the lichdrow, Valas Zauviir, paid Dr. Iskugawa a surprise visit. He was rarely ever seen outside of his tower, let alone the necropolis. He didn't knock, didn't even go through the front door. He just appeared out of the blue, literally.

"How goes it, doctor?" the lichdrow rasped.

"No. I just dropped by to see how things were progressing since you've received your supplies. Be sure to let us know if you're in need of more live bodies. The strength of the Horde has grown to a strong enough degree that we can spare bodies to go on raids without their loss affecting the whole as much."

Valas examined the muscles being grown for a moment, seeming to approve of the work so far, though it was hard to tell with a face that was more or less a naked skull. The lichdrow saw himself out of the doctor's lab, and proceeded to the hangar to check on the retrofitting of the new cannons onto the airship. Valas tended to be a bit of a micromanager at times, but it was really only because he was bored of being cooped up in his tower for long durations of time.

Tombs said nothing and stared ahead through the transparent speaker. Giving as little as a considerate, rattling, and a drawn out "Hmph."

He thrust the spade tip of his old shovel into the dirt before the gravestone. Leaving the rotted and rustic shovel there where it would remain until the wood would finally disintegrate from age.

Tombs grabbed the new shovel and leaned it over his right shoulder, scooping up his burning lantern before leaving. Just to find his horse, because he had places to be a holes to dig.

Valas Zauviir stared down into a clear, still pool of water inside of his study, within Nightlund Tower. His dark skull hovered over a reflection of Barton Town, currently under siege, with but little resistance so far. The demilich would have smiled, had he any lips. All was going accordingly, so far, and with his watchful eyes now on the scene, he would make sure it stayed that way.

A telepathic sending would come to Dr. Iskugawa from Valas Zauviir...

Iskugawa, I have a new project for you. Come to my office in Nightlund Tower as soon as you can. I will have an escort provided for you.

A necromancer waited for him outside of his laboratory, standing atop a glowing drift disc.

"Dr. Iskugawa, I presume," he would say once the doc made it outside. "I am to escort you to the tower. If you would please step up on the disc."

His courtesy wasn't exactly sincere, as the look on his face indicated that he had much better things to be doing than escorting scientists into the necropolis. He didn't understand the use of all this science, when magic could just as easily do everything much more efficiently, but he knew better than to voice his displeasures.

The drift disc glided silently away from the laboratory and down through the depths of Necroman, into the darkness below. Soon, they would be gliding over the necropolis, festering with death and dark energy. The disc made its way to a balcony at the top level of the tower, where Dr. Iskugawa would be dropped off. The curtained glass paned doors opened, inviting him inside. The necromancer would drift away on the disc, although he very much wanted to hear what the archmage wanted with the man. He knew better than to pry though.

Valas was inside, hovering behind his desk and staring into a crystal ball. The demilich did not care for appearances. He actually hoped that Iskugawa became unsettled by it, since the last time they met he still had a corporeal body. It's not everyday you see a floating skull that can kill you with a thought.

"Ah good, you're here," the demilich rasped, his jeweled eyes still on the crystal ball, looking intently into it. "What do you know of airships, doctor?"

"The siege on Barton Town is going well, and Vengeance is performing well with the new weapons," Valas replied. "We are looking to expand our fleet and have set our sights upon St. Aggripina."

Valas nodded to the crystal ball, which was showing an image of the city. More specifically, it was focused on a large building. "There is an airship museum in St. Aggripina. No doubt the ships can no longer fly, but I speculate that with some service and modifications, they could see the skies once again. Is this something you would be capable of doing?"

"All in due time," the demilich said.

"The Horde must be retrofitted and updated first to deal with the current technological advantage our enemies have, and with the progress of your work, it should not be too long now. Assuming operations go well in Aggripina and we have ourselves a small fleet of airships, we will be more than prepared to finally be rid of our enemies. As for West Fall's involvement in all this, I don't care how you sacrifice your own people."

((I actually forgot about that. Thanks for reminding me. Lol))

"Yes, I have felt its presence keenly. The time is drawing near."

Valas would meet his gaze, and nothing would happen. It's not like he wanted to kill the man, afterall. Perhaps the demilich was beginning to trust the doctor a little. Maybe that's just what he wanted him to think.

"We will let you know if the operation is a success. My apprentice will escort you back to your laboratory."

Dr. Iskugawa would be informed that he would not be going with the team to St. Agrippina. Instead, an expert would be going in his place, along with all of the new soldier units so far manufactured (let's say 20). The mission would be a field test of their capabilities, the data of which would be collected on site and sent back for analysis. The expert in question was another apprentice mage, who would come by the doctor's lab at sometime in order to get the whole rundown of how the soldiers worked. Sitting like an attentive student, he awaited Dr. Iskugawa's briefing.

Research complete.

Research complete.

Research complete.

Research complete.

Incoming transmission.

...

Word spread throughout Necromon: pack it all up and return to the necropolis. Magic flashed in dozens of places as wizards and necromancers opened gates to transport all their goods back to Necropolita, while the mindless undead workers filed through the tunnels. The completed weapons and armada of airships were teleported en mass through the combined magicks of ten wizards. The caverns below had already been expanded to accommodate for them. When the upper city was cleared of everything, the chasm that it occupied was suddenly pulled closed together, destroying the city.

The earth was worked like wet clay, creating a series of elaborate mazes, starting from the surface and working its way down to the underdark tunnels near the necropolis. Nine levels in all, each floor with an exit leading down to the next, each exit guarded by a powerful creature of undead or fiendish origin. It had to be the largest labyrinth in all of mortal existence! And to top it all off, the mazes were constantly changing, so they would never be the same from one visit to the next.

Of course, there's always the backdoor way to the necropolis, through the underdark, but that has considerable dangers all on its own.

In either case, it would make for some epic adventuring!

Somewhere, deep under the Temple of Dark Eternal...

The black robed, hooded figure appeared in a dimly lit chamber that resembled an operating room, holding a battered and bloody, jawless drow by the bloody scruff of his cloak. He was unceremonously dropped to the ground as the robed figure walked over to a steel rack with surgeon tools laid out on a silver tray.

"Poor performance. Very poor. I expected more out of you, Veszafein," said the robed figure, pulling the swords that had been retrieved from within the sleeves and setting them on the tray.

"Perhaps I've been too lenient on you. Perhaps I should have kept you out there, instead of giving you a comfortable position. Your blade has grown dull, and now your life is slowly draining away."

A hand came up to pull the hood back. Ghost-white hair spilled out from underneath, falling over shoulders and back. Darshendros turned to face the unconscious drow-dragon, holding a scalpel in his hand.

"But fear not, for I am a merciful god, and I will give you a second chance. You will not, however, be completely whole. I will rid you of the burden which landed you in this state, as you obviously have little handle over it. If I recall, you spend most of your time in this form anyway."

Darshendros kneeled over Veszafein, the blade of the scalpel glowing red hot.

The scene fades to black.

Hours later...

Veszafein lay strapped to the operating table, screaming and squirming around in pain, fighting against unbreakable restraints. The sheets were covered in blood and stitches criss-crossed his bare torso. His screams came out uneven and sometimes half-gurgled due to the lack of a jaw. He barely resembled the drow form he commonly assumed. Now, he looked like a grotesque half-dragon-drow abomination with clawed hands and torn, leathery flaps hanging from his back that once resembled wings. His skin was a blueish-black color, smooth and scaleless, and his hair was now the opposite color of what it once was.

Darshendros stood in front of a sink, wearing a bloodsoaked butcher's apron, pulling off a pair of gloves and dunking them into the water-filled sink, immediately turning dark red.

"Quit your crying, you baby," he said as he turned around and approached the table.

Veszafein continued struggling against his restraints, unable to hear his words through the searing pain racking his body at the moment. Darshendros, growing annoyed, clamped a hand right around his throat, cutting off the air for him to scream.

"I SAID SHUT IT!" his voice thundered, and the drow immediately complied.

There was genuine fear in his eyes, as his last memory had been falling on Ebris in the alleyway, then waking up in a strange laboratory dungeon, strapped to an operating table and discovering his jaw missing. Darshendros explained to him the final moments of the fight, and saw the fear become replaced with irrepressable rage. Good, he thought. He wanted him angry.

"Now then, if you've calmed yourself," Darshendros said, releasing Veszafein's throat, "here is what you are going to do. I am going to send you back to Latent, as you are now. As it stands, the team you are on is at a disadvantage, and likely will not win their first match. Since the tournament is double-elimination, that gives you a second chance at winning. You will win, this time, no matter what it takes. Unfortunately, you've fallen out of favor with Khazid'hea, so you will only be going back with your other sword and your dagger. I trust you will make good use of them."

He took the restraints off Veszafein and dressed him in his bloodstained gear, then spirited him off to the hotel where he would pass out for several days.

There was much activity going on at the necropolis. Since the closure of the upper city and its replacement with the labyrinth, the undead have been working nonstop at creating their war machines. Giant stone rings covered in runes and glyphs had been constructed on high up the walls of the huge cavern, spaced out around the entire city. One of these giant rings were currently active, shimmering with swirling colors that rippled outwards as an airship passed through it and into the cavern, moving toward what looked like a group of large hangars in the east side of the necropolis. Drydock-like platforms were constructed on the walls, which had huge, powerful looking airships docked, with crews of undead working tirelessly on maintenance and welding.

The skeletons did not lead them toward the large tower in the center of the city, but rather the solitary one standing off to the west. it looked just as impressive, if not as towering, and radiated with magical auras. The tower of Nightlund was the hub of arcane practice in the necropolis, surrounded by a moat of molten lava spanned only by a single stone bridge. A pair of black robed sentries stood guard at the bridge, which would escort the entourage the rest of the way. The doors opened before them, allowing them entry into the tower's lobby area, but there wasn't any spiraling staircases or any other apparent means of accessing the tower's upper floors. Waiting for them was one of the tower's necromancers, garbed in the same black robes as the sentries, with pouches smelling of spell components hanging from his belt. He had pale skin and wore a black skullcap, and smelled of death.

"The master has been waiting. He will only see the leader of your party. The rest of you must wait here."

The necromancer's eye twitched. He wasn't used to orders being defied here, especially those coming from the master of the tower. He stared off for a second while in silent communication, then nodded his head a moment later.

"Very well, but no more than that."

He would wait until Xanathos chose who would go with him, before taking a small charm out from the inside of his sleeve.

"If you will stand around me, please."

The necromancer wasn't listening, or just didn't care for his threats. He spoke an unintelligible, spidery sounding word and the charm he held flashed. The scenery around them melted away and was replaced by a long hallway, at the end of which were two massive, thick wooden doors, and a pair of regular sized doors on either wall around it. The necromancer placed the charm away and stepped up to the huge doors, knocking twice, waiting, then stepping back as the doors opened themselves. He stood off to the side, looking at the three.

"The master awaits," he said, gesturing for them to enter.

Beyond the doors was a huge study. Shelves were lined with dusty, old, leather-bound tomes, and there was the thick smell of mold in the air. Dust covered everything, giving it a semblance more of a crypt rather than a powerful wizard's study. The room was dimly lit and there were no windows.

Floating in the back of the room before a podium with an open book on it was the demilich, Valas Zauviir.

"Welcome to Necropolita," the floating drow skull said. "I hope there weren't any difficulties coming here."

Valas seemed indifferent to Xanathos' appearance, though curious as to why he needed a spell to take off the helmet. He had long ago discarded any feelings for beauty and perfection commonly held among his former kind. To him, beauty is power, and he has all of it.

"If we are to combine our forces to attack the surface cities, then obviously we need to share statistics," the demilich stated. "How many undead your empire is going to sacrifice to this cause, weapons, technology, strategies, the like. As you have probably seen on your way here, we have been preparing for quite some time."

Valas was already analyzing the helmet, checking it for magical auras and the like. He didn't seem very impressed; though it was difficult to gauge any reaction from the demilich, seeing as how he was just a floating skull. They could still be useful though.

"That's good enough. With the ranks of both our armies bolstered, the mortal cities will fall quickly and the land will be rapidly plunged into darkness. Is there anything you would have to ask of me?"

"Lament is heavily fortified against both physical and magical assault. Every time we have tried taking the city, our agents have been overwhelmed. We will provide support, but our main force will be spreading out from Barton Town, which has already been established as a strategic point, and assaulting the neighboring cities. If Lament is still standing after all the others have fallen, then we will crush it."

"Barton was sacked months ago. It is currently under our control, despite appearances," Valas replied. "We plan to use Barton as a hub to gate our forces directly into the heart of Gaia and spread out like a cancer from there, taking Durem, Gambino, and Aekea all at once. Once those three fall, we will move on to Latent in the east, Barthavos in the south, and Lament in the north, replenishing our numbers with the recently dead as we go along.

I will have one of the airships escort you back to your home. I will require the coordinates however, in order to attune one of the portals to transport you there at once."

Valas was silent a moment before he responded. "Personnel have already boarded the airship you will be taking back to your home. From there, they will build a gate similar to the ones we have here in order for travel between our cities to be possible. Before you leave, take this to your emperor."

A rolled up parchment with the wax seal of the Cult of Darshendros appeared before the demilich and levitated toward Xanathos.

"This is a formal alliance contract, just to make things official. It contains everything we have discussed, as well as a mutual defense agreement should either of our empires come under attack. It's already been signed from our end."

An escort waited for them to lead them to the airship port - an unarmed one this time. It looked like a normal, zombified male human in a black suit, but without the slowness and insatiable hunger of a zombie, and actually moved as he would have in life. The others that were staying behind were free to do whatever they wished.

"It is but one of the many gifts bestowed upon us by our Lord," the Necropolitan answered. "He has freed many like myself from the restrictions of mortal life for but a trite sacrifice of vanity. Does your god not do the same for you?"

One of the cultists, apparently trying to preach to them. They were a zealous lot.

"Apologies, my lord. I did not mean to offend," the Necropolitan said. "Come, this way."

He led them through the city, and there was much to see. If not for the overwhelming stench of decay and undeath and the abundance of walking dead, one might think this looked like any other normal, subterranean, industrializing city. Its citizens certainly walked about as if they lived in one. One of the plazas even held a slave market, where some slavers were auctioning off a new batch of collared slaves.

The airship hangars were outside of the city. There were four massively sized hangars in the area, three of them containing colossal vessels being worked on tirelessly by undead workers, welding plating to the hull or conducting other sorts of maintenance. The fourth hangar contained smaller vessels, no doubt being used for transport. Two of them were active with their doors open, one of them being boarded by the empire's gate-building crew.

"This ship will take you where you need to go. Master Zauviir should have the gate setup to reach your destination by now."

Five mages were being sent with them along with a Dread Knight - not quite as powerful as a Death Knight, but just as horrible - to accompany them and act as a liaison between the empires. As soon as they boarded their ship the hatch closed behind them and the engines hummed to life. It emitted a shadowy substance as it lifted into the air, distorting space like heat waves and inverting colors like the negative of a photograph. One of the gates activated, the inside of the ring filling with fluid, swirling dark energies that spiraled inwards like a vortex, swallowing all light that entered it like a black hole. They were going to pass through the Plane of Shadow, fly through the Fringe, and reemerge at their destination in less than a minute.

Meanwhile...

The mages, upon inquiry, would find out that they would not be needed to build any portals. The link was already established on this side and mages had been sent with the entourage to build a gate on their side. They were free to do whatever else they wanted though, as long as they didn't venture into places they weren't allowed to be in.

Valas Zauviir, still in his study, checked in on the status of the Heaven or Hell tournament, and the spies he had sent. With Veszafein's failure to stay in the tournament he had fallen out of grace with their patron deity, and thus went into hiding... until the end of his team's last match. The cyborgs sent to deal with him had caught up to him finally, and now he lay splattered across the ground in the Square. Valas knew better than to think that would be the last he ever saw of the assassin though. His Lord had imparted to him his intentions with the drow-dragon, and even now knew where his spirit lay. That would be an issue he would have to deal with at a later time though. For now, it was time for more planning. He summoned his generals and blinked out to the Temple.

The interior of the temple was elaborately constructed, with the walls and ceilings looking a vertebrae column with ribs arcing down along the walls. A dark, tissue-like substance filled the gaps between the bones like muscles. Alcoves spaced out along either side of the walls contained small statues of a skeletal red dragon, sitting on its hind quarters and clutching a giant human skull between its foreclaws. The hallway opened up into the main chamber, big enough to hold more than a thousand worshipers on just the ground level alone. An altar in the back of the chamber was occupied by a much larger version of the statues in the hallway, with large braziers set along either side of it, burning with blue and white flames. Robed acolytes wandered through the shadows, muttering prayers as they went about their duties, oblivious to the visitors.

The temple's architecture was hardly fragile. It radiated with intense magicks, along with some other properties. Some areas seemed more biological than constructed, though it was clearly not living.

There wasn't much to see at the ground level and there were only prayer rooms and living quarters on the second and third floors. Access to higher floors was restricted and warded off against those who were not members of the clergy. A spiraling staircase led down into the sub-levels under the ground floor, which seemed to only hold a catacombs, but much further down, if either of them sneaked around and explored enough, was a vast chamber with a giant black globe of negative energy floating in the center. Black-robed mages stood around it, chanting and channeling spirits through this plane and that of the dead.

At the top level of the temple, Valas met with his generals. With the disappearance of Alexander, the demilich now had to fulfill double roles as both archmage and high priest until a replacement was chosen, which basically made him emperor. He wasn't interested in running the empire though, so he waited anxiously for someone to be chosen as new high priest.

Five generals stood around a large stone table. They were hulking figures covered head to toe in armor, eyes glowing like hot embers beneath their helms, radiating death. They were creations of the Dark Eternal for the sole purpose of leading his armies; they were his version of the dreaded Death Knight.

Unlike the ones created by demon gods, these five did not birth from fallen paladins or dark knights. They were the collective malignant energies and enmity of evil warriors slain by good throughout the ages, and animated inside of suits of armor. They knew only hatred and were masters of war.

"We have struck an alliance with the ((insert name here)) Empire," Valas started with, "They are sure to be a nice addition to the hordes, assuming all their talk is worth anything. The time draws near, generals. Give me a status report on your respective charges."

The general with the horned helmet spoke first. "First Air Assault Division currently has 13,000 undead in formation, with another 2,000 or so in reserve. Vengeance's repairs are complete and her upgrades are finished. After the final test run she will be ready to see action again. We have added another 50 bodies to our crew to cover our losses from the raid in Aggrippina. "

Valas nodded, content with the report.

"Second Air Division is ready to go," said the general with crowned helmet. "We have 12,000 standing ready with another 4,000 in reserve. Cessation's upgrades and maintenance is nearly complete as well. The final protection wards are being put in place as we speak."

"Third Air Division is ready," said the general with the bulbous helmet. "Draconis III's upgrades and maintenance is nearly complete. She will be fully armed and ready to fly before the hour is upon us. Crews will be running drills until time for deployment."

"Very good," Valas said. "What about the latest addition to the horde? How many have been enhanced so far?"

"1,200 or so, my lord."

Valas nodded again, then turned his jeweled gaze to the general with the wedge-shaped-horned helmet.

"Fourth Assault Division is completing training exercises and our mages are building more constructs. We currently have more than 15,000 bodies, including artillery and armored support."

Finally, the last general, with the helmet that had two points on the sides. "Fifth Assault Division is ready to go. We have 12,000 standing by and 3,000 on reserve, including armor and artillery."

"Good, good," Valas remarked. "The tournament is nearing its end, but we still have plenty of time. There has been a slight change in plans due to our new alliance. General Vangun, you will take Vengeance and support Xanathos' forces on their attack against Lament. Do not send ground forces unless it's needed. Generals Faul and Grahf, you will deploy with the Draconis III and Cessation, respectively, and carry out attacks against Durem and Aekea with the First and Third. Chaszmyr will take his force and fortify Barton in case any heroes try to take it back."

"Understood."

"Another thing," Valas added, "If there is any sign of treachery, you will contact me immediately."

The generals nodded unquestioningly.

"That is all. Carry on until the time arrives. Dismissed."

They blinked out at once, leaving the demilich alone in the room.

"Ah, you're just in time," said Valas, appearing and floating before Brasna. The demilich looked down at the gathered mages, still chanting and raising their arms toward the globe of negative energy. In their hands they each held a container of some sort or another - phylacteries.

"We're about to induct our newest batch of liches."

Ribbon-like tendrils of negative energy swirled around the mages, entering their eyes, nostrils, ears and mouths, taking hold of them and lifting them off their feet. Their chanting intensified as their bodies were infused with high concentrations of negative energy, instantly killing them, their bodies rotting away almost immediately from the intense corruption. Their chanting continued however. They had gone immediately from life to undeath, their souls passing from their bodies into their phylacteries. The ribbons of negative energy separated from the black globe above them and they dropped to the ground, reborn in death. There was no rejoice or celebration; not even a sigh. The liches simply pulled their cowls over their heads, hid their phylacteries inside their robes somewhere, and filed out of the chamber through a side door.

((Retcon: Any mention of Barton being used as a forward deployment hub has now been changed to using Durem instead.))

Within the Empire of Death, many formations were preparing for going through the portal. The Empire had no vast means of transport, like the large airships the Necropolis had, but they did have vast waves of demonic mounts, both flying and land mounts. Many of the weaker members of the Empire were preparing the mounts for travel, equiping them with their own power crystal somewhere within the body, to prevent the feeding of such a mighty army.

The main force was assembling within the Twin Cities, members from all over the Empire being brought towards the portal that would lead them to the Necropolis. Many powerful Dead-men had been given the task to lead the army's various divisions, and plans had been led up for initial strikes on the three main targets, Aekea, Durem and Lament.

Even the mages had been petitioned to send in a number of their own to the battle. While not nearly as vast as the warrior numbers that would go to battle, they were arguably as powerful as those that fought with blades of steel. The mages had sent roughly enough mages that they should be able to ward entire divisions from ranged attacks and magical attacks, until they breeched the city, where the mages would then begin to wreak their own havoc. Special creatures from deep within the mages' own city were also being prepared for war, for the first time. It was unknown how they would perform on the battle field, but the mages seemed confident, perhaps even excited, to see their toys in battle.

Within the Empire, troops began to move into their units. The final preparations were made in terms of mages, mounted units and captains for each unit. It was then that around 400,000 Dead-men all went through their portal towards the Necropolita.

As soon as the units were within the Necropolita, the units entered the portal to the top of the Necropolis, and began to move in their respective directions. It took considerable time for so many troops to move through the portals, a constant flow of leaving and entering Dead-men passed through the Necropolis, all going to the surface. Captains and leaders directed the troops in respective directions. 100,000 headed East towards Aekea. 100,000 moved West towards Durem, and the remaining 200,000 moved in the direction of Lament.

The mood among the Dead-men was tense. It was a long time since they had ventured into the land of the living, and now it was their time to purge the living of life. To offer them a chance to join the Dead-men, or to fall into permanent death. Their Holy War had begun, and they were determined to finish it.

Three days after the destruction of the airships, Valas Zauviir assumed a new form and exited his chambers, floating straight to the tower's command and control room. This was a secret area of the tower, which none other than the demilich and their god Himself knew about. It was held in reserve as a backup plan in case things with the invasion went wrong. Now, the enemy had access to their dark technology, and beacons which served as gateways to the necropolis. Even worse, their forces were depleted, with undead scattered around the surface, their controllers dead or deserting. There was but one thing left to do. This plan had been approved by Darshendros, for the preservation of the cult, as well as his divine power. It also promised Valas a seat next to his deity within the pantheon.

"Activate emergency protocols, Valas-Six-Six."

The undying temple was an undead construct all to itself, but having access to the resources of West Fall City, and its technology, before its destruction, made prudence to have a few modifications made to the structure. All of the exits closed up and the tower sealed itself off completely. At the top, the globe of negative energy that had been serving as the necropolis' primary defense shot up into the ceiling, boring a hole through the earth as it made its way to the surface, where it would explode. The cavern rumbled as rocket engines beneath the temple came to life, and it lifted up from the ground, breaking free of its earthly hold and shooting up into the sky and beyond. The temple was gone, the necropolis' scarce remaining forces left to fend for themselves.