The Empire The Blight Below

[Rahma]

Some fucking festival. Why was it that, without fail, Rahma kept having to go under-fucking-ground?

Lady Medja had been making some big moves as of late. After the last failed attempt at breaching the fathomless trench that was the Scar of Drakormir, the Smiter of Ragash had decided to take things a little more seriously this time. A full platoon, basically, full of some of the strongest fuckers the Mistress could find. That wall of muscle Rhix, the top dog of the Emerald Hands (guess he was a Finger now?) was among them, alongside other faces Rahma both did and did not recognize. Shit, Medja didn't even seem to care if they were Hands, as long as they knew what the hell they were getting into.

Rahma knew. He didn't much like that he knew, but he knew. Those bat-things that had swarmed out of the opening way back when had staved off any attempt that his little scouting party could make at penetrating past the first dozen meters of the Scar. Didn't matter how they tried to approach it, either. Those things had given him more than his fair share of cuts and bruises for his troubles, too. Hadn't been any wonder that Masika had turned tail and gotten the fuck out before shit went real sour. The healers back in Ragash had told Rahma he'd been lucky he hadn't caught some kind of infection.

Now the group was stationed, this time in broad daylight, rallied around in what was essentially a war camp and waiting to descend. Rhix had taken the lead in making preliminary checks into the hole, securing climbing lines and all that. Crazy croc had already gone down a hundred feet by himself and come back up, securing a bunch of safety lines along the way. Rahma and some other advanced scouts had aided in setting up more.

So what was the goal of all this shit? Why send a full expedition into the most rancid gash in Liadain's history? Burning fucking curiosity. Medja wanted to know exactly what the fuck was down there, and if anything could be gleaned about Drakormir and its origins in the process. The Mistress wanted the chasm sealed, and she was willing to do anything to get it done.

If only she could know exactly the horrors she was sending all these good men and women into...

 

[Len Dy't B-taa]

To say that Len knew what he was getting into would be categorically false. Having been beyond the veil of life for at least the last several centuries, the Grand Terios knew little of the Scar of Drakomir, save what little information Medja had provided him with when asking this favor of him. It was a gash upon the earth, left by a Dragon of leviathan proportions emerging from the ground. Such a sight was unheard of to B-taa, but seeing was believing, and the scale of the massive chasm before him gave much credence to The Empress' tale.

Despite his little knowledge of the situation, he felt no unease in approaching this most unhospitable cavern ripped open beneath them. On the contrary, the ancient warrior felt his blood boiling hotter than it had in many moons. At last, he'd been provided with the armor that he'd asked for, shimmering gold and white that seemed to reflect the sunbeams bearing down on him, a pristine white cloth hanging from his waist, bearing an approximation of the Kingdom he'd once called home's symbol, interwoven with that of the Empire's.

It felt right. Like he'd never taken it off in the first place. For the first time since being brought back from death's cold embrace, Len Dy't B-taa once more felt like he was indeed The Grand Terios once more.

"So, what are we looking for when we descend?" Len spoke through his helmet towards Rahma, his face obscured by the tinted glass curved over his eyes. "The Empress spoke only of an expedition, but I get the feeling she wouldn't have amassed a group of this size if she was not expecting some resistance." B-taa mused, kicking a small rock down the chasm as the one called Rhix ascended once more from a scouting trip partway down the gap.

"I'm unfamiliar with the history of this Scar, but the origin shared with me does suggest a depth and level of danger that's not insignificant." The Terios planted his polearm in the dirt, inspecting the curved blade at it's end as he waited for orders. "So it is safe to assume she would prefer we leave this gash a bit less populated than we find it?"

 

[Rahma]

Rahma watched as Rhix heaved himself over the lip of the Scar, lumbering his way back into camp like it was nothing. Hundreds, to have the strength and sheer fucking balls that guy had. Rahma was shaken from his stupor by the sudden intrusion of...some guy in really nice armor he wasn't familiar with. Or maybe he'd been introduced already and just forgot. Rahma couldn't say.

The demi-jackal blinked at the wall of muscle and metal before him with all the enthusiasm of a bored cat.
"Yeah, 'resistance' is a good word for it. Some mean, flying fuckers living down there that stopped us from checking things out with less people. Aside from that, I don-t--"

Rahma cut himself short as something the guy said suddenly sunk in. He twisted bodily towards the man with a look of bewildered surprise on his mien.

"Wait, wait, unfamiliar with the Scar??" he parroted in disbelief. The guy looked Kaliti, but if he was, how could he be unaware of something so devastating to the region? "What, did you just come out of a coma?"

And if he had, why was he here?

 

[Len Dy't B-taa]

The unusual cat-eared fellow couldn't see the equally bewildered expression that Len Dy't wore on his face through his helmet, but the ancient warrior was every bit as flustered as he. Just as The Empress hadn't done too much to explain the history of The Scar to Len, it seemed she hadn't clued these warriors in as to his origins, or at least given them a reason he might be a bit... behind.

"You... could say that." Len admitted sheepishly, turning his head towards the mammoth gash in the earth once more. He didn't have time to explain his story to everybody who balked at him, so this silvery-haired gentleman would just have to take B-taa's word. "I may be ill-informed, but I assure you I make up for it in manpower."

In that, he told no lies. While peace was of course a boon to any civilization, it was in Len's blood to fight, and it had been so long since he'd had a good tousle with a worthy opponent. The very idea of a group of these... fuckers as his comrade referred to them, lying in wait beneath the surface for the bite of his weapon against their flesh made his body warm with anticipation.

"Whatever these Flying Fuckers you speak of are, they will not withstand the fury of The Terios." Len declared, pulling his polearm up from the earth and approaching the very edge of the scar as though it held no more terror than a snarling pup guarding table scraps. "Come, my furry-eared companion! Let us purge this Scar of the Fuckers that plague it!"

Rahma

 

[Safiya]

"If only all were so willing."

Sultry, smooth velvet filled the air. It was not like a song, but it was beautiful and full, strong and soft. It passed through her lips as sweetly as honey with a smile and a hum.

She approached, her body adorned in black cloth and many jewels - and yet hardly adorned at all. Bare feet tip toed across the blazing hot sand. First, her eyes travelled up and down the Terios with a raised brow and a keen interest, but as she came near she turned her gaze upon Rahma.

The slight tilt of her chin. A curling hand gently rising, bringing a finger under the Mongrel's chin.

"Not so fast. Don't you agree?"

---

Rahma | Len Dy't B-taa​

 

[Keket]

Piercing amber eyes slid across the gathered band. They were an unusual collection, individuals plucked from the growing resources of the great Medja, among which Keket herself was counted. She knew many of the faces, others by reputation. It was her place to know them, as a member of the Imperial Hand who slid between the Sapphire and the Onyx, at least until her true role could be determined.

The size and diversity of the troop spoke to Medja's conviction to penetrate the darkness of the Scar. A woman of great power and resource, Keket imagined Medja may have already known what lay in that wretched place, but in her wisdom and machinations kept it's secret to herself.

Regardless, Keket was there in the employ of the Empire, though her true loyalty was to the great sorceress herself. She was no Emerald or soldier. An Abtati, she was raised in the unorthodox practices of the desert raiders where people were reknowned for. That skill set, as well as the intense training endured under the hand, rendered her more stealthy, more crafty, and more lethal than any of the sand elves she left behind. But it might be her Blood Magic that rendered the young elf of particular use.

At the moment, the trio that had moved closer to the chosen entrance to the Scar captured her attention. She knew them by reputation only. The jackal-eared Hand Rahma. It was said his recruitment into the service of the Empire was as humble as her own. Next to the Letai was a statue of a man, his physique appearing as if carved from stone by a master sculpture. He seemed dressed for a formal military parade rather then descending into a pit in the ground. That was the one brought from the dead, the Terios.

Even in his pristine glory, the figure that glided up to Rahma outshined B-taa in Keket's eyes. The woman was of the desert, like Keket, though perhaps the finest image of an Abtati woman. The young spy knew the gorgeous creature as well... Safiya. The priestess was a vision of sensual mystery, her garments too seemed unfit for an underground expedition, yet Keket found it difficult to take her gleaming eyes from the beautiful woman.

There was a discussion among them, a discussion about entering the Scar. The Abtati assassin moved closer across the sand on soft leather boots, to glean what the trio intended. In contrast to the more elegant and enticing garments of the older Abtati priestess, Keket wore sparse leather, her dusky, tattooed arms and thighs partially covered by warm desert robes left open. Concealed within were the weapons and tools of her trade. A hood partiailly veiled her deceptively youthful, elven features.

Awaiting a lull in their conversation, Keket asked with apparent innocence, "Who is in charge of this expedition?" She could see already a subtle tug of power between the three.

 

[Rahma]

An upper ear flicked in annoyance, Rahma slowly cocking his head as he looked at Len, much the same way as he would have if the man had suddenly sprouted a second head. "Balking" didn't even begin to cover the intense confusion and bewilderment that washed over the demi-jackal. Where did Medja keep finding these types?

"That's...the idea, yeah. At least grab some climbing gear, yeah? Rhix said he doesn't want anyone going in before the lines are secure," he replied at last, not comfortable getting quite as close to the edge as this "Terios" (whatever that was) person had. The sands were treacherous and he'd already had his fair share of getting injured falling into chasms. "I--"

Rahma's next words were cut short by the sudden arrival of another of Medja's playthings. His reaction was visceral and unbidden: his cheeks flushed, nose scrunched, teeth clenched, and he flinched backwards.
"Fffucking Hundreds, fuck!"

Despite his heightened senses, Rahma had not noticed the barefooted woman coming. The surprise was not a welcome one, all of his animus coming to a head in an instant. He exhaled heavily, finding his footing and attempting to do the same with his composure.
"Yeah, agreed, but give a guy a little warning next time, huh?"

Just then another voice piped in. Rahma turned his head to regard the newcomer, one ear still locked on Safiya.
"The big croc over there, Rhix," he answered, still a bit irritable. He'd never seen this particular Abtati, and if she didn't know Rhix then odds were she was probably on the fresher side.