Lord Rook reflected on them, on they those dissedients living in squalor. On how we saw, the sleeping mass of bodies on the creaking floor. Laid upon with sleeping mats and mattereses. Morgue was…interesting. He didn,t see them that much compared to they, n3t. and that one dragon girl, yes, neia.
He withdrew from his throne room. A grand obsidian chair, runes etched all over it. To his inner chambers, to his inner sleeping chambers. A grande and majestic window opened to his city. His wide, sprawling city, reaching up to molest the stars with their fingers of knowledge. His towers was the greatest.
-put filler here-
Now, Lord Rook reflecting. N3t had a long narrow face. A fairly tall starving frame. Long lanky stretched out arms and legs. Thin sticklike fingers. And a long wire like tongue. Apparently, he was known to stick it into random orifices of the lumps of flesh that slept around the floor.
This is morgue. Start writing me damnit.
Hello, I am a control freak. I keep going and going and going. Damnit. All of my recruits have to be in top shape. Hisss, I have no room for weak links in my great chain, my great broken chain of freedom. Do you understand me, human?
An intruder was entering his city.
There was a fire, massive bonfires. The city, the Enclave of Earthen Crescent was burning. Great lines of lava lined the ditches on top of the walls. The warning bonfires on top of the earthen walls flared in alarm. And the great bats and wolves and any therian Incarnate that can shirek, yelp, howl, roar, and scream to alarm the poplulace did so.
The great general Maverick sneered in disgust as the beasts did their alarms and his troops got the Fire Elemementals to rouse their dormant ashen sleep to ready for battle. In the terms of the Incarnate or Imposters, the term that General Maverick preferred, hierarchy, the Beasts were at the bottom, the Elementals were somewhere in the middle, and the biggest prizes, that a General such as herself could dream of, were the ancients. Ages old demons, angel,s, half-deities, great abominations from Beyond.
Princes, princesses, powerful warriors from the other side. Oh yes. Everytime they fell in battle, if their soul was not collected before the reapers came, the Wraiths, would come. And have it renter for the great cycle. And then every single Enclave would scurry to soul inspect every single baby born after for the newest prize to be snapped up. And if that it was even born human…
Despite being the big fucking guns, a fully grown Wanted or Precious, able to decimate entire armies with a single blast, while still fresh from the Vats. They were hazardous to the have.
These, Wanted, however, was what put armies like hers in danger. Entire nations were razed to the very dust that they came from by the Eldritch in order to find their precious sons and daughters and who knows what else. Male Eldritch being pregnant, females siring children, the very thought unnerved her.
A warping of the natural order. The natural order that I was trying to uphold. Only one Wanted has escaped from me, released by a careless officer. I executed him, despite his arguments that a Precious one would bring more attention that we need, that our city would be leveled down to the ground. The careless fool. It is they, who keep our cities safe. All we have to do is…disguise them.
And frequently recycle them. To keep them ignorant of their past. It is with a heavy heart that I do such a thing, but I must do it so humanity may march forward into a brighter future. I will never fail. I will never become a thrall. Oblivion it is, then slavery. The Imposters are monsters, not human.
I do not feel guilty not all.
“Troops, prepare the Assburners! Get their angers raging! And most of all, KEEP THEM UNDER CONTROL. Direct them to the bonfires, get them blasting they,re fireballs. Get the beasts out of their stables! And get those damn mages to keep the land calm, we need some sacrifices prepared here! The last thing we need is the Earth eating us up!”
We have 3 Wanted, excuse me Precious, only the top brass such as I know. The record out of all the known suriving Enclaves. We have our ways you see.
He had no name. Just a number and a derogatory term. Prickles the Hedgehog, he always flinched at that. J43, was that he preferred. J was his unit, 43 was the number of person, no excuse, sirmaam. Before the alarms were sounding, he was resting in his barracks. Merely a bunk with a small platform in the end for personal effects. And chains for when he was not at training. A feeding trough along with a water bottle set in the wall. None of it was to his name. not even himself was to his name. a brand on his chest, wrist, and rear end detonated who he was owned to. General Maverick of the Crescent.
As a beast, he was pretty useless. Neither loud or big. His frame was small. He wasn,t even that fast, of he lumbered along, but he was determined to serve his city and he made pretty good progress. He got a promotion once or twice….only to get it reversed after was he was sent back gooped.
Gooped . start out life again as a fucking embryo. Oh great. There was a tunnel that he had built during in the farms for the past couples years…the alarms were sounding. Chaos. In which he can escape in. yes.
On the horizon, was a great being the angel from before. Strode very slowly. Marched towards in the Enclave of the Great Crescent.