The Dark Below

“The world as we know it is gone. The tide came from death itself and swallowed our land. Through the power of our mana and our inventions, we have lifted the last remnants of our countries in the darkening skies and within the blackened realm of the heavens, we shall survive. Rather if you have aligned with the creatures that have forsaken our lands, split apart from our hovelled society, or turn to the life of piracy, it is my hope that we as man, orc, elf, and all the god creatures survive the dark torrent. Now go home. Spend time with your loved ones. Tell them that everything is going to be okay, we will survive the oncoming darkness and bask within their shadow and thrive.”- King Broadrick Jalafay, the Oath Keeper of Kales. Kales was once the capital of a beautiful western continent known as Obis. When the old ones braced to the surface of oceans, a flood swallowed the land. Before the rising tides could fully overrun Kales and a handful of other cities, human and

Within an open field rest a pillar of oaken wood. The alter stands high above the ground as if the importance of such a construct demanded an audience that looms just below it. The Jakalorn culture has deep roots with the goddess of the blight. The blight is heaven to the Jakalorn and building a pyre to the unending sky is the way to pay respect when a member of the ruling clan perishes. At the very point of the wooden tower rest a bed in the shape of the Jakalorn insignia and upon that wooden bed is the body of the king's first and only born; Varick. On the ground level of the plain is Malakai and his beloved Ellensandria. Behind him are a plethora of other dark elves to show their respects. The help from the castle like the masonry and other slaves. Other scouts that were in Varick's unit are there as well along with other soldiers. Malakai holds a torch in his hand while everyone else has a rose. Roses are the payment for Fae and the fire is the method of travel. The sun burns brig

The cold wind bellows within the early night. Shivering sensations reap within the tired bones of the traveling trio that rides to the blackened and fallen kingdom. With the sensation of the cold draft comes the frosty rain. Droplets pillage the abyssal knight’s armor. On impact, the water retaliates by splashing along other parts of the metal suits but then dissipating altogether with the soil of a grassy and plain field. The smell of the coming storm wiggles the nose of the lead rider, Scar. It is a talent to smell a storm before the weathering entity hits the land in which he is in. Like most old, season orc, warriors, he is no stranger to war caught in the eye of the storm, in fact, he embraced it. The creature has fond memories of fighting inside a storm for that battlefield signified the end of the beginning, or some might say the beginning of the end. In the distance, the warrior's eyes fall upon the kingdom that never was meant to be and it makes his skin crawl. His seasoned a

In the trenches of the wildlands rest the young and old dark elves that stave the darkness at bay. Creatures of all sorts have been more active ever since the war ushered by King Malakai. It is as if the forest itself wages the war against the dark elves. The giant tranches separate the land between the dark elves both Lorn and Jakalorn from the plague that runs ramped throughout the forest. The trench system stretches for what seems like endlessly and is crafted in a zig-zag formation so that the enemy cannot attack one end since there could be many ends at play. The maze-like fortification is about two miles in depth to accommodate the size of the soldiers. Inside the walls are multiple hovels that are built to house the soldiers so they may have a place to eat, sleep, and live in. These indents within the walls are labeled by squad names. There are many types of teams in the Line, but only a few are special forces. A group of dark elves that operate behind enemy lines, in this case,

There is heat within the room of Leon’s domain. One that forces his body heat to quiver with sheer and utter delight. So much so that shivers not of coldness or brittleness but of soaring power spark down his spine. That is the sensation of how he feels once inside his favorite masonry. A right hand brings down to the lower back of Robin’s back. The submissive man’s back is covered in claw marks which turns that pale, toned flesh of his to a peachy red color. Even so, that did not stop his nails from digging into the man’s skin while his boney hips bash into Robin’s backside making his bubbly rear jiggle in a rhythmic motion. Both of them share a lustful and peering moan that travels throughout the empty space of the room. Leon’s right-hand grips the sheets of the cot that both men are on. Between his fingers he clings to the black blanket, pulling upon it which forces his body to impale Robin’s even harder than once before. Flesh mesh together as if they are one person molding with t