The Staging Ground

[The Dementist]

On the Astral, there is the body of a war god long dead. This god was the god of an ancient, insectile people, and his power saw the rise and fall of hundreds of empires of his people. But his people grew reckless, and in the end destroyed the Prime they inhabited. The loss of his followers destroyed the god, and he has lain silent for the eons that have passed since then, his name and power and people passing from memory to legend, legend to myth, and then to dust, with only his massive husk floating in the Astral as a testament to what was. No living being, not even the natives of the Astral, have set eyes on this being in centuries.

Today, that changes.

The Astral around the dead god seems to crack and shimmer with black energy. Hundreds of portals rip themselves open, and creatures begin storming through. First through are the Ratayas, who land on the god’s carcass first and begin looking around for signs of danger. Spying none, they began letting out croaking barks that resounded through the mists of the Astral, the signal for the next to come though. The creatures were colossal monstrosities, and bore a resemblance in some ways to turtles – they had similar shells, at least. However, where there front flippers would be were two massive, batlike wings, and their rear flippers were like the talons of a bird of pray. They had heads like a sperm whales, but far shorter and with far more powerful jaws, and they lacked any eyes. That didn’t seem to deter them at all as they flew towards the god’s carcass, bearing bulky loads, full of weapons and construction material and supplies. On their backs were humanoids, or twisted creatures that at one time were humanoids.

They in turn were followed by more of the same creatures, but each of these boar only a few rider and a single, bulky load. The riders climbed down into the load long before the creatures arrived at the god and began cutting ropes, revealing twenty beautifully crafted Astral Carracks loose, fully crewed by former humanoids and Ratayas.

After the creatures, known as Mablachs, land on the gods carcass, the Ratayas and various humanoids move quickly, unloading their burdens. Construction on defensive structures is to begin immediately.

Had the god still stirred, he would have been pleased. Once again, after eons of silence and nothing, he would see war.

[The Dementist]

Construction on the staging platform was complete. Work had gone non-stop this entire time. Fortresses covered the entire surface of the god, each one made of iron walls coated in a strange, purple, almost fleshy substance that seems to ripple and pulsate almost as if it were alive. Each one is two hundred fifty feet long and a hundred feet wide, two stories tall, capped off by four fifty foot towers, one on each corner.

Xealaz’s creations crawl upon the various fortresses. Ratayas man astral carracks that float above them. The four armed, reptilian Hjol ride fearsome Sjack’gix on patrol, protecting Mablachs ridden by the squid-like Gorx that ferry transports to floating platforms in the mists of the Astral, manned by Mael’kinin elves. Prymaels move across the surface of the god in herds, drilling for war, and the serpentine Hidarils practice firing their deadly spines. More horrors crawl across the surface of the god, each one more horrible than the last.

Two structures appear different from the rest. One is a massive gate of iron, six hundred feet tall and twelve thousand wide. Runes are etched into their surfaces, and gems are placed all along it in a spiral pattern. The second one is a tower of pure iron, four hundred feet from the gate. Atop it stands a single Rataya. His body is scarred from years of combat. His left wing is missing, and his right has been covered entirely in metal scales, which will serve as a shield. He has two harnesses strapped across his chest, each one covered in the skulls of Halflings etched with runes. He is Ysarlin, the Warlock Lord of the Ratayas. Command of this invasion has been given to him and Xealaz’s son Didrik who stands closer to the edge, his short red hair flowing in the Astral. The invasion will begin soon. May the gods help their targets.

[The Dementist]

Creatures begin to mill around outside the gate. Hundreds of thousands, perhaps even millions, of them crawl along the surface of the dead god. Ysarlin stands before the portal, a long staff in his hands. Among its various powers, it is the only way to open and close the portal. Didrik sits nearby, mounted on a beast that looks like a cross between wolf, horse, and hydra, each of its three heads hissing on the end of long necks. A good fifty thousand Slanjot, the lowest form of Nightmare, on the level of the dretch in the hierarchy of Dementia, mill about between them and the portal. Sjack’gix mounted Hjol fly around abovehead, and Hjol and Rataya stand behind them, waiting for orders.

Didrik nods to Ysarlin, who holds the staff high above his hands. Black energy crackles along his length, then along the length of the gate. It begins to shoot from the edge to the center, striking it once, twice, three times. A hole forms, and begins to expand, growing larger and larger until it completely fills the gate. Didrik raises his sword.

“Hintar’jorna!”<br>
With his shout, the Slanjot begin to gibber madly and surge forward, part marching, part surging through the portal and making various noises. Sjack’gix, as well as some of the winged Rataya, fly through the upper parts of the portal. The Hjol and Rataya behind them march around the platform Ysarlin and Didrik were standing on, heading into the portal as well. Mablachs, mounted by twisted mockeries of humanoids and carrying supplies and troops, fly through the portal, making deep, resonant noises like a whale’s sonar. The invasion had begun.