A scorched landscape lay barren for miles. The scent of death hung heavy in the air and a dank fog swirled in the early morning breeze. Heartfelt cries and mournful wails were carried like possessions by those looking for hope.            Marauders and Crawlers sniffed hungrily at passersby. Rovers and Surat’more sharpened both weapons and teeth in anticipation of a slaughter. Death would stalk many at the hands of the creatures who dwelled here.            Those who trickled into Sutterguard cowered at the dark. It was desperation that drove them here. They sought refuge from their war torn lands but would not find it…            Although he was young, Vesoth was not new to battle. When the humans amassed against them, against his kind and all others, Vesoth didn’t feel fear. He didn’t see the end of peace, he recognized an opportunity.            At the beginning of the uprising, factions of creatures stood divided. They had no kings or leaders to direct them. They were scattered, unorganized, helpless— Vesoth changed all that. He and he alone brought together an army of races to stand against Ackril. He gave them purpose, unity and a chance to win back their homes. It was Vesoth who led the strongest to Sutterguard. It was he who taught them to fortify themselves and eliminate all who were not like them.             He sat now on an outcropping of rocks in the shadow of an ancient bastion whose parapets blocked out the sun. He watched the newcomers with mild interest, imagining the uses they could serve. They would be his subjects and these lands his realm.            Vesoth had the power to rule, what he didn’t have was a fortress. Turning away from frightened peasants and hungry beasts he raised his eyes to the battlements above the valley. If he could take the ancient Keep, none would defy his rule.            The creatures who lived there had become a myth. They never ventured outside the stone wrought stronghold and none dared wander inside to meet them. They were feared in a way befitting the gods yet whispered about as though they were demons. Vesoth knew they were neither.            He’d seen the Dam’Nor before, watched them haunt high walls at night and heard their footsteps on dirt littered floors. They could not stand against him, he knew too much, and they not enough. He’d been stalking them for months, planning and waiting for the right time to strike. By morning none would defy his rule.            Waiting for the refuge of night, Vesoth slipped past the defenses of the Dam’Nor and scaled their walls with nothing more than strength and madness to guide him.  Deadly and silent, he slinked into the depths of the Keep and skulked through the halls unnoticed.            One by one, Vesoth took account of the things that dwelled here. From afar, the creatures seemed sluggish and devoid of thought. But Vesoth could see the truth of what they were.            They lumbered by, unaware of his presence. White eyes with jaundiced pupils fixed on nothing as they passed. Their flesh was dark as pitch and hung from colossal bodies in misshapen excess, flowing like smoke suspended in the wind.             Slinking closer, Vesoth studied their melted faces. They were not as wraithlike as the legends claimed. They were somewhat comical with thin fangs like those of a snake and flattened nostrils that billowed with stale breath. Their mouths dripped with jowls and they drooled incessantly.            The keep was a catacomb of dead bodies and granite pathways. Corpses hung from the walls like tapestries, gutted, stitched together, and spread out in the sun to dry. Tools of torture and weapons of war were strewn about, stained from use but dull with neglect.            A harvest moon bled an orange hue through stone embrasures as he followed the evening watch. The callow beast sniffed at the air but continued on oblivious to the intruder. Flesh swirled like mist as Vesoth inched forward. It followed his path suspended in the air, defying both weight and time as the creature crumpled to the floor.            Vesoth’s blade dripped with the ebony blood of his quarry. He cleaned the length of his baselard and sheathed it before kicking the body down the stairwell. There were more ahead… he could smell them, and they weren’t alone.           An escort for the damned lurched forward, slaves huddled and whimpering behind them. Vesoth slipped like a shadow into their midst and concealed himself among the prisoners. There he remained as the Dam’Nor drove them forward. They were led to the oratory and forced to kneel at the center of the room. Here was where the Dam’Nor enjoyed their entertainment. The beauty of the place was covered in blood and bowls. The stench of death was thick, a stifling wall defining their fate.            The slaves begged for mercy or death and were met with low growls and helixed claws. The Dam’Nor prodded their captives, piercing flesh and lapping warm blood from gnarled fingers.            They plucked men from the crowd and lay them out, prostrating them on stone alters and securing them with chains. Vesoth waited, biding his time, until one of their captors lingered too near. It went down quickly. The thump of its body alerted the others but Vesoth was ready.            His blade lashed out and leveled the beasts until there were none.            “They can smell death.” A man snapped in warning.            “Not through this stench.” Vesoth rummaged through layers of the Dam’Nor’s flesh, searching.            “If there were only one, then yes, but you felled five—”            The other slaves began to murmur, newfound fear moved their lips to action and Vesoth cut the air with his hand in a call for silence.            “It’s too late.”            A deep rumbling began to shake marble walls.            The catacombs of the fortress ran deep, and the Dam’Nor poured through dark hallways like blood through ancient stone veins.               “Release the others!”  Vesoth tossed a thick iron key to the slave. “Fight them or die!”            Darkness roiled through the nearest archway. Primal beasts hefted ancient blades and struck out without discretion. A man’s head spun free and through the spray of blood Vesoth could see the mass of Dam’Nor. They swelled into the room, roiling like smoke as they polluted the oratory.            Vesoth rushed forward, a grin of bloodlust painting his face. It was too easy— he laughed. The Dam’Nor were weak with age and stale from indolence. They were many and their weapons stung but Vesoth met pain with skill.            His blood boiled with a need for death. His vision went crimson and his arms shook with the power that surged through him. Rage guided him, and Vesoth abandoned his blades to rip through flesh with blackened claws and bared teeth.            The Dam’Nor fought with an intimate knowledge of death. They outnumbered their quarry and rushed over them like waves crashing upon a blood soaked shore. But their years of seclusion had made them weak and Vesoth raped their archaic ways. He took them one by one and extinguished the light within until nothing was left in the citadel but blood and silence.