Zoklaeth’s imposing figure stood out in the building camp as he shouted his orders to the servants. The undead mostly remained in silence around them, watching the enormous walls blockading the entry to the Middle Stratum in the vast path. For the past day, they stood in silence, all their eerie eyes focused on the walls, the defenders’ spines chilling as they feel the focus on them even through the small gaps built for archers and mages.

At first, they were laughing at the enemy not possessing any siege equipment, or not even starting to conjure up ones. The dwarves, similarly to the undead and the Eliovadeks remained still, their helmeted heads constantly staring at the enemy hidden behind the obsidian walls.

The Nameless stands on the far back, seemingly his eyes closed, meditating as Cacmieh approaches him slowly. He stops in his tracks as he feels the scars scorching his soul while soft guttural whispers filling his mind. His steps becoming heavier with each passing minute, for a moment he is thinking of barraging the Nameless with numerous spells, but he manages to overcome the urge.

The world around him starts spinning as he senses a vile, yet familiar smell of rotten flesh permeating the ear, while anger and paranoia mixes within his psyche. “Damn it. Do they want to ruin this for us?” He murmurs as he takes back control over himself, exerting all his will to push those out from himself.

“Cacmieh.” A childish voice calls out to him as he stares at the ground while his head is about to burst into hundreds of bloody chunks, overlapping with hundreds if not almost a thousand other soft whispers in the air. “Come closer.” This time a deeper call out to him. As he tilts his head up, he notices the Nameless circled around by Eliovadeks, some with hulking bodies grafted with menacing murky armour plates of Stahlaar, others slenderer elven with ears peeking out from the sides of the helmets.

The Nameless raises his ivory arm out with a friendly, yet cold smile plastered on his androgynous face veiled in shadows under the hood. For a moment the scorching subsides, a tender coldness sweeping through his body and soul. He straightens his posture and lets out a weak sigh while focusing on appearing as presentable as he can.

“Excuse me, just a bit of a hiccup?” Cacmieh slightly bows his body while forcing emotions into his voice. “Quite the naughty ones, aren’t they?” His eyes jolt open as he recognizes Griggorn’s mellowing voice overlapping with soft whispers.

“Pardon?” He straightens his posture, his hood falling back, the luminous lights coating his orb head.

“The two demons and the devil.” The Nameless spoke, while the Arnyak guarding him silently stood out from the way, letting Cacmieh walk towards him slowly. “I’m amazed, they just started to took their toll on you.” He continues speaking in Griggorn’s voice, his dark eyes gleaming with envy for a moment before the little emotion fade.

“I would not be worthy of my title if not for the strong will I inherited from my father.” A sombre look shows itself for a mere moment on Cacmieh’s face before he veils it in iciness. “I want to say that, but the rational answer is they probably fear being replaced by the dragon.” After a bit of consideration, he decides to be honest with the Nameless, although a part of him questions his decision.

“Both could be true, do not let doubt plant it seeds within you now.” The Nameless speaks once more with a different, slightly deeper voice in a cold, motionless manner. Cacmieh finds it strange, but accepts the kindness shown to him with a bow. “But enough of this topic, why have you come to me?”

“It may be not the proper time for this. But I must note how remarkable the ‘undead’ in your service are.” He looks at each abomination surrounding them with his eyes before speaking directly to the Nameless. “I mean their divine flesh merging perfectly with the armour, their unprecedented calmness.” He continues showing signs of a child’s wonder on his otherwise emotionless face.

“They are the result of eons of dedication.” The Nameless slowly walks beside him while stating in a cold but proud manner with eyes gleaming with proudness of a father. “You’re interested in how they were made. What aspect rids them of the hatred the undead are usually filled with, aren’t you.” Then he turns his attention to Cacmieh, with a faint smile curving onto his pale lips.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I am.” He blurts out the words in his mind as he can no longer contain the excitement within himself. “I’m afraid I can’t satisfy your hungering curiosity, my friend. But don’t be afraid, after the mountain and the North will be mine, you shall be satisfied.” He puts his weirdly cold hands on his shoulders while slowly leading him back towards Zoklaeth, yelling at the servants to hurry up.

“Do not mind us, General. We’re just here to kill time until the battle.” The Nameless raises his alabaster left hand, speaking with a mellowing cold tone with an affable smile. “As a sign of my good will towards you and your kind.” He puts his hand on Cacmieh’s forehead, erasing the aching that wants to split his head open. The demonic whispers all go silent as he sighs, his eyes rolling back to his head for a moment as a tender feeling embraces him.

“If you all need any help with the camp, don’t hesitate to call on them.” He slowly walks around, his hands locked behind, while watching the tents being raised by the magus servants. The murky leather laid out on the ground, the edges wrapped around large pieces of bone with sharpened ends straighten out while rising up forming into hardened walls. “How fascinating.” He speaks with wonder in his eyes, witnessing as the tents belonging to Zoklaeth and Cacmieh rise in unison.

The two looks at each other, but shrug as they conclude that their overworld kin moved past such practices centuries ago. Even the snow elves nowadays prefer to use the elements to construct their camps in the rare cases they are preparing for siege.

“It takes me back to the good old days in Alfheim.” He mumbles while gliding into the interior of the tent, appearing twice as big as one would expect it from seeing its exterior. “Alfheim? Are you a Traveller?” Cacmieh asks with one eyebrow raised, some of his questions about the Nameless answered, while new ones rise within.

“Yes, I came to in that realm and spent a considerable time there.” He answers while caressing the walls, memories of him walking in a much more sophisticated one flooding his mind. “It is a beautiful plane, filled with the unworthy.” He says with a sombre tone while turning back to the two. “Well, for the most part. I always like your kind. No holding back in their study of the arcane, the gift of the Maker.” As he slowly approaches the two, Kriegrsforin and Galeldeth appears in the distance, slowly walking towards them before getting down on their knees in front of the Nameless. “My liege!” They speak in unison in a calm and collected manner, a weird sight to the two dark elves watching from the confines of their tent.

“Things progressing as we expected from them.” The eyes on her staff too, show their respect by staring at the bottom of his robe scraping the dark ground. Galeldeth speaks in a much calmer manner while kneeling in his presence. “I/we see. Let’s wish together for their success.” He glides toward a jagged rock formation sprouting from the ground, grown enough to fit perfectly as a seating.

“If I may, could you explain it to us too?” Cacmieh speaks up after the two Dhaugrians slowly rise up at the behest of the Nameless. The two looks at each other, even the eyes on the staff glare into Kriegrsforing golden eyes, before they all turn to the Nameless for confirmation.

“It is about those things that seeped into the ground.” Zoklaeth adds, eliciting a harsh look from Cacmieh. “Yes, you both know about how the magma deep in the mountain has been changed by the thick necrotic energies?” As they turn to the Nameless once more, he nods softly, prompting Galeldeth to speak up.

“We do. But how are those… creatures related to that?” Cacmieh asks, while a part of him understands that the Dhaugrians managed to find their way into the deep to retrieve those, especially after recalling the creature's skin glinting like refined dwarven armour. “Well, as a fellow mage, you heard about Vividuiel Armaeth?” After a while to keep it short, but easily explainable she throws up the Vividuiel Armaeth, the enslaved souls of Imperial Deserters forced into finely crafted golden armour, forced to serve High Noble families and guard seats of high value to them.

“So, you’re implying that you created something similar, but using death magic instead of mind?” Cacmieh tilts his head up while scratching his chin while thinking. A part of him commends their effort and foolish bravery, diving deep into the mountain just to recreate the Vividuiel Armaeths with their own take on it. Then he lets out a gasp as full realization hits him.

“What?” Zoklaeth turns to him, still not understanding a thing. “Brother, those things are dhaugrians who offered themselves to be turned into something new, something greater to serve our Liege!” Galeldeth sighs as she lays it out to his thick-headed brother. “Those were Dhaugrians?”

“Yes, but they allowed us to rip their soul out, and then our Matriarch of the Null did the rest.” She continues after Zoklaeth snaps his armoured fingers at, finally grasping it. “But that’s something that is our secret.” She turns her gaze upon Cacmieh, her eyes, including the staffs’ gleam with worry.

Then the eyes on the staff turn in unison towards the obsidian walls blocking their way forward. “They began.” The Nameless spoke up, his voice unnaturally deep, slow echoing in different tongues with a wicked smile on his face.