A fleet of Sultanate ships cruised across the sea, occasionally stopping for a prayer or two here and there before moving onwards, but still making relatively decent progress towards their goal. As for what that goal was? Well, perhaps rather foolishly, their goal was to take over the nation of Ititlis.

Yes, they did not even know that it (‘it’ being the former nation of Ititlis) had already been reduced to a desolate, blighted wasteland that was constantly being scourged of all things by a rather dutiful colossal flying undead lizard. So much for Arbianan intelligence, although to be fair they had effectively lost all contact with their agents once Darksol took over.

If only the people aboard the ships had known what they were getting themselves into, perhaps they would have mutinied and turned the entire fleet around then and there. Unfortunately for them, their intel was non-existent, their faith in their cause was unshakeable and their sense of duty to their nation was grossly overinflated. This would lead to no small amount of tragedy when they neared the shores of that cursed place.

…

“This… this is all wrong…” the fleet admiral muttered while quickly glancing between his sea chart, the measuring instruments, and the view outside. And, of course, he was right. The view he could see from his cabin was completely impossible, a clear trick played upon him and his fleet. According to the prior intel (which was, by this point, several years out of date, mind you) Ititlis should have been a land of bounty, where even the places that were more difficult to inhabit had vegetation and bounty. What he was looking at, even from a distance, was the polar opposite of that.

If this was Ititlis, then some unimaginable tragedy must have occurred there, as the coastline looked dead, decayed, and ruined as if death itself had decided to make the entire area a part of its personal domain. The sands were bleached of most color, far from being white or even a brownish hue they were ash grey and there appeared to be no trace of anything living even in the water at the fleet’s moored position. It was a sight to behold, but certainly not a welcome one.

The fleet couldn’t wait in their position for much longer, as it and its crew were on a timetable. The invasion had to take place, regardless of whether or not the landing zone was obviously a blighted mess. Letting out a defeatist groan, the admiral ordered his crew to begin allowing the army to disembark onto landing ships (more like repurposed rowboats, but who’s to blame them for using what they had on hand?). One by one the landing crafts/ lifeboats were filled with soldiers and then were lowered into the placid water.

The water’s placidity was yet another reason to be concerned, as it meant that the wind was not blowing (one of the reasons why the fleet had dropped anchor that far away) and that the normal waves that would push up against the beaches were essentially just not occurring (a second reason why the fleet admiral had ordered the ships to stay the fuck away from the coast and not even bother attempting to dock at one of the clearly ruined yet still decently functional harbors along the coast). This resulted in the repurposed lifeboats having to row their way more than a couple of miles from ship to shore, all while the growing sense of ominous foreboding grew ever larger and more intense.

Eventually, they reached the shore, offloaded their living cargo, turned around and made a beeline straight back to the waiting fleet. The landing craft picked up yet more men, ferried them to the shore, and then made yet one more run before the main ships had emptied themselves of ground forces and allowed the repurposed life rafts to be brought up and returned to safety.

It seemed that, despite the growing feeling of distress that everyone was experiencing, the fleet would be able to make an escape from this haunted place without the loss of a single soldier. But of course, you all know that things could not possibly go according to plan. After all, while no plan survives contact with the enemy, there are usually no contingencies able to deal with the wrath of a gigantic, black scaled undead dragon that is none too happy about having his stomping grounds defiled by the taint of his master’s enemies.

…

Pluton could smell them from miles away. The living had come to take what would never belong to them, and their arrogance that they displayed by even setting foot upon the blighted sands of the beach was something he could not stand. He pushed his body to fly faster, for he had to make sure that the intruders that dared to try to bring life to what was a testament to his master’s wrath and hatred would never get the chance to leave. Their wooden boats were nothing to his power, for he had long since tested his body against mock-ups made of steel and even harder metals, only to come out triumphant and supreme in all cases.

His massive frame cast a terrible shadow as he flew, drowning the already dim light that would have reached the ground as it passed through the heavy clouds. His body sliced through the skies and he at last laid his eyes upon the Sultanate fleet. He thought for a bit about whether he should simply destroy them all there and then or what other move he could make, and then came to a decision. He would sink their ships and yet he would leave as many alive as possible.

For now, at least.

After they managed to crawl onto the shores and try to make it further inland, however, he would hunt them down, one by one, and make monuments to their failure and hubris out of their broken bodies. He by now knew just enough magic to keep people alive, even when they rightly should be dead. He would make them rue the day that they ever thought that trespassing on land that was not theirs was a correct course of action. Once they laid eyes upon his grim and gruesome handiwork, they would beg to die.

They would look to him as a wrathful angel, beseech him to show mercy and end their suffering then and there, and he would look down upon the savages and despoilers and say but one word.

“No.”