In the flickering lights of Dukeraal’s lower Palace walls, the mood was quiet; sombre. In the slight glisten of the stain-glass windows that arched upwards, monumental glyphs of fables, did the distorted appearance of the outside reveal itself. The arches of web-ridden stone pillars rose to the top of the ceiling, at least twenty metres off the ground, encompassing the main chamber hall, amplifying the wake of even the smallest of scurrying.

Beyond all this, deeper within, was the throne room: not tremendous in opulence nor pretentious jewellery, yet it held its own in the grander scheme of things. With the trickle of moonlight sapping inwards, the former Titan sat cross-legged, the dark crinkles of his cloak accentuating the lean appearance of his body. Sharp and torque muscles accompanied an angered glare, and a hesitant disgust had written itself on curled lips.

In front, others had situated themselves against pillars of the palace, or by the strips of hedge which coursed through the sides of the massive hall. The others too were silent- with nothing much to say or do; there not needed to be a single utterance to describe the sombreness of the situation.

"It seems,” Lord Daidric, leaned forward off his throne started, “that stability has decreased in the past few moon cycles.” A powerful voice that echoed across.

“It was inevitable my lord… The Mynthos have grown increasingly agitated in the approaching winters; their bloodlust is endless,” stated a shorter, hobbling Unuk, whose loose tunic dragged across the floor, exposing a limping leg. He adjusted the scripture in his rat-like hands and licked his lips with a forked tongue; “It doesn’t help that the human filth are copulating like rats.”

Lord Daidric, his red pupils still, shifted slightly, his hand gripping the armrest of his throne. “You mean to tell me, that the Lunam cannot keep the Mynthos in check?”

A couple hushed mutters spread across the halls and finally, his advisor, Merkel, spoke: “Yes my lord… That is correct.”

Lord Daidric would be a fool to not comprehend the irrefutable nature of the Mynthos: there was a reason why humankind and the Titans alike called them ‘Hell Mynths’. Regardless, his stomach dwelled in perpetual darkness, disappointed that the forces of Lunam were not able to control the Mynthos.

“Siege the Mynthos civilisations that sprawl across Oricalum; warn them, show them what comes to those who disregard me. The futile actions of the weak; the unimportant, will learn the importance of obedience to the cause.”

“And what would that cause be, my Lord?” the fearless commander of the Kingsguard asked.

“The cause of righteousness.”

When Chief Advisor Merkel walked with Lord Daidric it often entailed long occurrences of painful silences and smouldering retrospection. It seems today, it harboured no such things.

The arrival of the mysterious Lord was sudden: along with the arrival of the various hordes of the Infernum. Oricalum was the initial point, according to the fables-turned-history, of arrival. The immense fractures that rippled across the Great Chains of Prosperity, tore pathways between the realms, allowing for Mynthos and Lunam alike to cross.

The dark intricacies of Daidric’s pauldrons glistened in the setting sun, and Merkel watched his Lord halt to a stop.

The catwalk that was etched to the side of the cliff stopped at a sudden abyss, where fields upon fields of dark and murky swampland roamed, thick brush dotted here and there, not consistent. Unuks down below gathered in clusters, Vampyres glided hundreds of feet above, surveying for kilometres to come. Still there was the forts of the slave maesters, derelict now. The Unuk kin were the first of the Mynths to become subordinate; for that, the abdications of the maesters followed quickly.

They began their descent.

“The Human Barons of the Aeges have situated themselves as popular amongst civilisations in the east. They’ve discovered much across the Great Sea as well. Breaching…”

“Breaching, what?” Lord Daidric inquired.

“New lands, my… my liege.”

They stopped in their tracks, some of the nearest Unuks kneeling in the presence of Daidric, their eyes meekly meeting the feet of the Kingsguard (whom Merkel didn’t even realise they were tailing).

Daidric’s voice was steely, “New. Lands?”

“They named it Karatis Islands. Old Aegis for Wildlands.”

“Old Aegish is Draal Shit.” Lord Daidric whispered. “It scourges the common tongue and replaces it with blood-clotted dirt.” His voice was quieter than usual, colder.

As the pair walked on, more and more had stopped to bow or offer grace. Lord Daidric dismissed them all with a wave of his hands; his attention span, Merkel had noticed, was incredibly short, sometimes dismissing servants midsentence.

They reached the apex of a hill, where the road forked, and split like tributaries, leading to multiple directions, the closest one being a large well of short stature. They walked the opposite way, to a sprawling settlement, half embedded in limestone mounds, protrusions of grey concrete harbouring small clumps of green dew.

The newly constructed walls of Colinrad stone suited the dreary monotone appeal of the southern city: destined companions, as it were.

Archer towers would be an understatement for these monoliths which engulfed two world’s worth of air. First, thirty feet of fourteen inch Colinrad stone, reinforced with inner Aalarian steel wiring and Gurcow hide insulation. Then, near the top, was not archer slits, but rather gaping holes, holding anti-siege crossbows, three-hundred-pound giant-killers, mounted to ballistic rail systems.

Yes, this was in the furthest depths of Oricalum, hundreds of miles past the dead-man beach, but nothing stopped the humans. They, led by their false prophets, and misguided ‘Gods’ would stop at nothing to destroy Daidric.

“Make way for the Lord of the Great Lands!” The Kingsguard boomed, stepping forward once, spears pointing upwards.

Those at the gates looked down, and opened immediately.

*

“I have not come to debate the politics of inter-county economy: I have come to stop this nation from total annihilation!” For a swamp Grunt, Maester Oper spoke eloquently. Yet his pot belly, pinkish bald head and pointed ears stated something else entirely.

The Bannermen that stood at the perimeter of the stone-walls stood in cold discomfort, the sigils painted onto their cloth faded now. Lights flickered in the evening night, cumbersome in the moist winds.

“Yes, yes of course, Oper, you came here to fuck whores and drink ale- the outcome of our conflict with the humans doesn’t affect you either way!” Another Maester spoke, this one a gnarlish Imp.

“The Imp broils in his own cooked broth. The discrepancies of these useless arguments only wastes time: time that could be spend fortifying against the human scum.” A high warden spat.

“In consideration of the fact that the humans now have a naval capacity nearly three-quarters the size of our Water Maidens: we should issue the strike first, aiming for Aegis Landing first. Bring down their beach Castle, the Castle of Drawfort.”

“Attacking their second biggest Castle will take more than cannon fodder or fire bombard to take down,” the Imp spoke.

“We yuz da Orklin’ ‘surgents first, under sewer systems, spikin’ watah supplies and then slittin’ throats at nights time. Send in Drakes, then tha ships,” an Orkish Lord suggested, in-between gulps of ale.

“For once, gods forsake it, the Ork tribesman speaks sense, softening the defences initially will only make penetration easier.”

“I do not ask for penetration of the walls, but utter desecration.”

No one heard the Lord enter the room, for his usual presence enveloped itself within layers of silent contempt. The smell of alcohol and fire-soaked wood dissipated quickly, too quickly for others to tolerate, and everyone stood from their stools.

“…My Lord,” most managed to cough out.

The pauses gathered issued stifled fear and soon the atmosphere became sombre.

“A seat, your Lord,” a Kingsguard pulled out a chair.

Lord Daidric continued to stand, at the head of the table.

“The time is nearing, when the safety of our Empire, will be threatened by the kingdom of Humans. The time will come, when these houses, will be alight.”

“We are supported by innumerable troops my lord! Our defences are-“

“Are nothing,” he began leaning forwards, black hair flushing on his forehead, “are nothing in the face of the Titans. The forsaken Gods have abandoned their positions of negligence to aid them.” Lord Daidric uttered the words in a fashion that brought pure fear to the room.

“The Titans? My Lord, surely the Gods themselves would find no benefit in aiding the sewage dwellers in combat against us.” The Imp pointed out, cradling a blade in his fingers. His scepticism was apparent.

“Forget their reasoning, halfling.” Lord Daidric warned, turning his heel.

Lord Daidric strode out, silently as he entered, his silent anger disappearing.

Merkel spoke with hastened words, his forked tongue shimmering like a dagger: “The Lord speaks the truth: the winds are stirring, the realm above congesting in unparalleled magnitude. Whatever is coming, we are not prepared for.”

“The Titans? The Old Pantheon’s presence in the world is gone, if not extinct. We are not even sure if they are alive,” The Maester pointed out, leaning back in his chair.

“Watch your words,” someone warned.

“The man-filth have not made hasteway forwards without aid of the higher ones. We are not alone in this realm: we must prepare, or face annhilation.”

“What’re we doin’?” The Ork grunted, getting out of his seat.

“We’re going to invade the lands of Galgador. Invade it with the biggest fleet the face of Luthadel has seen.”

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Hope you enjoyed the prologue, let me know if you're interested and i'll put up some more, as im writing it as we speak.