As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the ruins of the stone fort, Atlas and his forces approached the orc village nestled within. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the sounds of grunting orcs echoed through the desolate landscape.
With a silent command, Atlas signalled for Strickler and Konak to lead the charge. The undead and human followers moved swiftly and silently, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath them.
As they neared the village, the orcs caught wind of their approach, and crude shouts of alarm filled the air. The defenders rushed to arm themselves, but it was too late. With a fierce battle cry, Strickler and Konak led the charge, their weapons gleaming in the fading light.
The clash was brutal and swift. Strickler moved like a phantom, his vampire speed allowing him to strike down orc after orc with deadly precision. Meanwhile, Konak unleashed powerful spells, blasting apart the crude defences of the village with torrents of dark magic.
The orcs fought fiercely, but they were no match for the combined might of Atlas' forces. With each swing of their weapons, the undead and human followers carved through the orc ranks, leaving a trail of broken bodies in their wake.
Finally, as the last of the orc defenders fell, Atlas surveyed the scene with satisfaction. The village was theirs now, a foothold in the heart of the Dark Lands from which they could launch their campaign of conquest. With a nod of approval to Strickler and Konak, he ordered his forces to secure the village and prepare for the battles that lay ahead.
With a wave of his hand, Atlas commanded Konak to fulfil his duty as a lich. Konak, newly risen and filled with dark power, approached the fallen orcs and began to chant ancient incantations taught to him by Atlas. These were not the spells he first found in Sylvania but improved and refined through the AI chip to make the undead rise up, stronger and faster.
"As you command," Konak replied solemnly, his voice echoing through the night air.
His words resonated with power as dark energy coursed through the fallen orcs, slowly raising them from the ground. With each incantation, their bodies twitched and their eyes glowed with an eerie light until they were reborn as undead servants.
With each orc that rose, Konak's power grew stronger, his control over the undead expanding with each new servant added to his ranks. The once-vibrant village now echoed with the sound of shuffling footsteps and hollow moans as the undead orcs obeyed their new master's commands.
"Konak, You and Roland will take charge here. Repair the fort as best you can and protect the convoy. Strickler and I will head deeper in to stir the hornet's nest." As his loyal subjects bowed their heads, Atlas couldn't help but notice a trace of concern on the mortal faces. They had been promised a new life on the frontier, they expected challenges but nothing like the sight before them.
The Dark Lands stretch out before Atlas, a desolate and forbidding landscape that seems to defy life itself. The air is thick and choking, and only a few straggly blackthorns dare to grow amidst the barren earth.
Volcanoes dot the horizon, their fiery mouths belching forth plumes of ash and smoke. From these depths, all manner of minerals and gems are brought to the surface: gold and silver, iron and copper, diamonds and sapphires, as well as sulphur, oil, and tar. It is a land rich in resources, coveted by many but claimed by few.
In the heart of this desolation, far to the south of their current position, lies Zharr-Naggrund, the foul city of the Chaos Dwarfs. Here, they have established their empire, ruling over the blasted landscape with iron fists and cruel machinery built by enslaved humans and Greenskins.
Yet, the Dark Lands were not always so bleak. Ancient maps speak of a time when the region teemed with life, known as the Plains of Plenty. But all that changed with the eruption of Azgorh, a cataclysmic event that reshaped the land forever.
The volcano's eruption was so powerful that it blew itself apart, sending ash clouds billowing across the land and triggering earthquakes and pyroclastic flows. The once-fertile plains were transformed into a labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks and toxic steam vents, where no living creature could survive.
Not yet at least. Atlas had plans to change that.
For now, only the foolhardiest adventurers dare to brave the Desolation of Azgorh in search of its precious minerals, knowing that death awaits them at every turn. Atlas looked over at the marching lines of undead behind him, he was glad he didn't have a mortal army, the toxic fumes alone would have crippled them.
Navigating through the treacherous terrain of the Darklands, Atlas and his forces encountered numerous obstacles along the way. Ash clouds billowed overhead, casting a pall of darkness over the land, while poisonous fumes seeped from the ground, threatening to choke the life from any who dared to breathe them in.
Despite the inhospitable conditions, a few feral orcs, driven mad by the harsh environment, dared to challenge Atlas and his troops. Yet, their attempts at resistance proved futile, as they were swiftly overcome and added to the ranks of Atlas's undead army.
As they pressed onward, Atlas knew that his position in the Darklands was precarious at best. To gain an advantage in this hostile territory, he needed intelligence—information that could help him navigate the dangers ahead and secure his foothold in this unforgiving land.
Turning his thoughts to potential allies, Atlas's mind settled on the Lahmian Sisterhood. As Vampires, they were kin to him and while they lacked the strength at arms that prevailed in Sylvanina, they were far more subtle in their deviousness. In ages past, they had pulled strings to exert control on kingdoms, that had ended at the hands of Manfred who had reduced their forces so much they fled to this remote corner of the world.
The few hundred years they had established themselves in the Darklands would make them an expert on the locals making them valuable allies to tip the scales of power in his favour.
As Atlas and his entourage approached the Silver Pinnacle, a sense of awe washed over them at the sight before them. Enclosed within towering, thick stone walls stood a fortress that bore the unmistakable marks of Dwarven craftsmanship. The buildings, constructed to withstand the test of time, exuded an air of ancient grandeur, their sturdy foundations a testament to the resilience of the Elder Race.
Surrounding the compound, black cloth draped from the stone edifices, lending an aura of mystery and secrecy to the stronghold. Yet, it was the towering central tower that drew the eye, rising majestically above the surrounding structures. Encrusted with crushed quartz, its surface shimmered and gleamed in the sunlight, casting radiant beams that danced across the landscape like molten silver.
As Atlas drew nearer, he couldn't help but marvel at the incongruity of vampires choosing to inhabit such a luminous stronghold. Traditionally creatures of darkness, vampires were drawn to shadows and gloom, yet here they dwelled in a fortress that gleamed with radiant light.
However, as he approached the towering structure, Atlas began to understand the wisdom behind their choice. The tower's surface, adorned with potent enchantments, pulsed with arcane energy, serving as a beacon of power that reached far beyond the confines of the fortress. It was clear that within these walls, the Sisterhood of vampires wielded formidable magical prowess, their reach extending across vast distances through the scrying spells woven into the very fabric of the tower.
With newfound respect for the capabilities of the Sisterhood, Atlas prepared himself to seek an audience with their leaders, knowing that within the Silver Pinnacle lay the key to unlocking the secrets of the Darklands and securing his place among its rulers.
"Atlas Von Carstein." A voice, chill and beautiful as frozen dew, drifted from the wall, now lined with heavily armed vampires, thralls of many races and undead. "Are you here to kill us?"