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