On the continent of Orbis, passage between the East and West is geographically limited. Mighty rivers, towering mountains, barren deserts, impenetrable forests, and mysterious chasms divide the continent. It’s this geography that has made war between the East and the West challenging, as the known passages through this belt have long been mapped out. Not one of them lacks some form of permanent fort or wall on either side, built and staffed such that no large army could endure with enough left over to continue a meaningful invasion.

The remedy for this is straightforward but challenging nonetheless. All you have to do is find a new passage, or “create” one. Such is the plan of [General] Ripman.

“We’re still ascertaining the exact number, but an estimate suggests we’ve lost slightly over one hundred [Soldiers], sir.” A [Strategist] answers the [General]. The two stand with a map between them, displaying the stretch of land they’re attempting to build a path through. Upon the map lies pieces representing the various Aesir divisions making their way through the Webbed Forest, regarded as one of the more difficult to penetrate sections of the divide. However, if this forest could be opened up, conquered… Well, the slow trickle of troops making their way across the pass would not compare to armies that would be brought to bear.

“How many Arachne died in the encounter?” Ripman asks.

The [Strategist] frowns. “Only two, sir. They’ve recently begun targeting the [Woodsmen], slowing our progress further.”

Ripman leans back in his chair. His eyes bore holes into the map. He is, unfortunately, unused to and unsuited to dealing with guerillas. He was selected to lead this expedition because his kingdom specializes in wood production. Harvesting the forest would have been child’s play if said forest would stop killing his men.

“What have you tried so far?” Ripman asks.

“Both the trees and the webs are resistant to fire, and the traps are so well concealed that even our [scouts] have difficulty finding them. Chasing the Arachne is also nearly impossible since they travel through the treetops.”

“But we are still making progress, correct?”

The [Strategist] nods. “Yes. If my calculations are correct, we will have a secure passage in three months. Possibly sooner if we can find the Arachne nest.”

Ripman sighs. He stands up and walks away from his [Strategist]. He exits his tent, looks up at the moon, and takes a deep breath. The night is young and the camp is quiet. He looks towards the forest, knowing full well that come morning, more traps will be freshly set, once again.

“Costly...”

To date, he has lost over a thousand [Soldiers] to the Arachne, and he expects that number to climb.

________________________________________________________________

“Matriarch, we can’t continue this any longer. They carve away at our forest. They will find us, our village.”

The Matriarch bares her fangs. “And what do you expect us to do, Xervaveve? Leave? Where will we go, where will we live?”

The Matriarch shakes her head. “You know the outcome, you’ve heard the stories. The humans, the elves, all that walk on two legs find us disgusting. They think us mere monsters, to be killed on sight. There is nowhere to run. All we can do now is follow the guidance of the Great One.”

Xervaveve’s eight legs twitch. She is a [Web Trapmistress], one of the highest leveled Arachne in the village, and personally responsible for killing hundreds of [Soldiers]. Yet, her skills aren’t enough, not against a foe so numerous.

“We cannot hold out. The Great One’s gift only slows their progress,” Xervaveve says.

She rubs the spider mark on her left shoulder, the symbol of her God’s blessing. The Great One blessed her webs with resistance to fire, shoring up the arachne’s greatest weakness.

“That is the point, Xervaveve.”

The Arachne woman pauses, making sure to comprehend what she just heard.

“The Great One wishes to hinder our survival? That makes no sense. We will eventually be overwhelmed in time.”

The aged Matriarch stands up from where she sits and walks towards Xervaveve. Her hand moves to Xervaveves cheek. “Daughter, one day the great web will take me and you will be the new Matriarch. When you do, know that you must always trust Anansi.

“Anansi?”

“The Great One’s true name. He chose to reveal it to me yesterday when I was lost in my weavings. Among whispers and secrets, omens and portents, he told me of his plans… He told me that he no longer needs to hide and that his champion has arrived.”

Xervaveve frowns at her mother in confusion, unsure exactly what she is talking about. Why was the Great One hiding? What secrets does the Great One hold? Who… is this champion?

_______________________________________________________________

Ripman sneezes rather loudly. Initially, the cold, night air refreshed him, but now he’s just cold. He takes one last look around the camp, making sure that his [Captains] and [Lieutenants] are doing well before he makes his way back to his tent.

“Derby, why are you still awake? It’s the middle of the night, you really should sleep.”

The [Strategist] gives his [General] a forced smile.

“Can’t sleep. I’m not sure why, but I feel a sense of… foreboding.”

The [General]’s expression turns tense.

“Skill?” he asks.

The [Strategist] shakes his head. “Just a feeling. No skill involved. It’s most likely just my nerves.”

Ripman walks to the table where Derby sits. He takes a seat and sits across from the [Strategist].

“First time in a war?”

Derby nods.

“Well, that feeling’s good, it keeps you on your toes. Just don’t let it get to you. I know many leaders who have lost their nerve, constantly fretting something would go wrong.”

Dolby grunts. “Yeah, it’s just, I don’t like this one bit. I mean, I understand we have to fight for our gods, but I don’t get why we have to go to war for them.”

Ripman sighs. “I forget that you’re pretty young. You’re what, thirty-five?”

“Twenty-seven.”

Ripman whistles. “Mid-twenties and already a [Strategist]. Top of your class?”

Dolby chuckles. “Nah, I was somewhere in the middle. There were a lot of people with better scores than me.”

“Really? How old is the youngest [Strategist]?”

“Nineteen.”

Ripman goes silent with mouth agape.

“Not even twenty?”

Dolby shrugs. “As I said, I’m not the best, which is why they stationed me here.”

“Hey, I know I’m not the highest level, but I’m still a [General],” he says in mock anger.

“Yeah, but you’re no Devrish or Saruman.” Dolby replies.

Ripman snorts. “Bah. Kid, you think those fogeys are the good [Generals]? They’ve got the levels, sure, but you don’t know a thing about what makes a good [General].”

Dolby raises his hands. “Sorry, sir.”

Ripman frowns, “Don’t Sir me unless my men are present.”

“Sorry.”

Ripman sighs and leans back into his chair.

“You got lucky though. You could be fighting on the front lines in the south, battling against the Olympian armies, or you could also be up north dealing with… that.”

“That?”

Ripman sits up. “You don’t know?”

“Are you talking about the demons?”

Ripman nods,.“So, you have heard. What are your thoughts?”

Dolby scratches the side of his leg. “Nothing, other than knowing that they’ve returned. My education never required me to learn about demons.”

The [General] takes a deep breath. “Well, three [Generals] and their armies are heading north as we speak. They are going to make camp on the isthmus to the Dark Isle in case the demons do try to escape.”

“And… why would it be bad for me to be up north?”

Ripman scratches his short beard. “Because you are either going to see no fighting at all, or you will have to fight monsters that almost destroyed Orbis fifty thousand years ago.”

“Why are we at war then if such a threat even exists?” Dolby asks in surprise.

“Simple.” He states. “The gods are bloodthirsty, bored, assholes.”

“The [Priests] would have your head if they heard that.”

Ripman waves his arm. “Nah, they don’t care what I say as long as I take their orders and do my job.”

“You’re nuts.” Dolby shakes his head but smiles.

Ripman winks. “Feeling better?”

“A bit.”

Ripman nods then stands.

“Well, now that you’re feeling more relaxed, let’s get some sleep. We have a busy day tomorrow. I think I figured out a way to squash those spiders a lot sooner.”

The [General] turns away from the table and walks towards his bed. He stops halfway there when he sees something move on his bed sheets.

Focusing on it, he finds a black-furred spider the size of his fist sitting and staring at him with glowing red eyes.

Before the [General] can react, his [Danger Sense] goes off and the spider starts to release steam.

__________________________________________

Fifty thousand years ago, Orbis was brought to its knees when the realm of Hell gained unfiltered access to the world. It was a time of mayhem and destruction, when demons ran rampant, killing, raping, and destroying with the only cause being malice and amusement. Hundreds of gods were struck from the world throughout the war, which only ended when the surviving gods banded together to push the demon horde back and seal Hell once and for all.

Yet the taint of Hell still seeped into the world. A black cloud spewed forth from the seal, covering the surrounding lands and shrouding them in unending darkness. All that lived under the cloud would wither and die… or adapt to become twisted and tainted.

Humans, Dwarves, Elves, and the various demihumans abandoned the land. Only two species were able to survive and flourish beneath the shadow. First are the Vampires, humans who have been permanently changed by the Archdemon Alucard. The other species that survived are the Lycans, a demi-human species created by Mimir using humans and the corpse of the Archdemon Cerberus.

Unfortunately, these two species do not live as equals. The Lycans’ natural resilience to poisons allows them to consume the toxic food grown in the Darkened Lands, while the Vampires drink the blood of the Lycans.

It was not like that when they walked under the Sun. The first Lycans, who called themselves Neuri, lived freely under the demons. The demon overlords respected strength, and the Neuri had that in spades. During the wars, they thrived, leveled, built cities while the world around them burned.

Regardless, though they were powerful, they chose the wrong side. The combined might of the world's armies descended on the demons, pushing them further and further back. The Neuri and their cities were destroyed, lost to the test of time. But the Lycans were not all destroyed. Many hid, biding their time while the sky blackened and the invaders died or fled.

The history is long though, and Garn has little interest in those who died millenia ago. All he knows at the moment is that the time is nigh. He must confront his [Lady].

With a tightly clenched fist, he knocks three times on the [Lady]’s door.

“Come in, Garn.”

Garn opens the door and enters. His gaze moves to his [Lady], who stands at the balcony. Her head is tilted back, eyes watching the sky.

He walks through the plush room and stops directly behind her. His hands are behind his back.

“My [Lady].”

Ambrosia continues looking at the sky, her expression neutral, but Garn can tell that her curiosity is piqued.

“The smog… it's not as dense. The sky will clear soon.”

“Do you fear the light?” he asks.

The [Lady] smiles ever so slightly.

“Once, when I was young and fragile.”

She continues staring for another long minute before she turns her head to the side. One crimson red eye looks at Garn.

“So, Garn, care to explain why an army of uncollared Lycans is right on my doorstep?”

Garn bows. “My lady, I apologize for the secrecy, but my kind wish for freedom.”

“I see.” She shifts back to staring into the sky. “With the demons incoming and the smog slowly clearing, the Covens will be too distracted with the demons to put up a meaningful resistance.”

“Yes, my [Lady].”

Ambrosia sighs and turns around. Her bra and panties are fully visible under her translucent, thigh length negligee. She looks at his neck. His spiked collar is gone, not that it could have stopped Garm. His level, age, and strength would allow him to break the adamantine infused steel with relative ease.

She hugs herself and leans back on the balcony’s rail.

“Then, I guess this is goodbye. I thank you for serving me.”

Garn shakes his head. “It is not. I wish for you to come with me.”

She slowly shakes her head. “Garn, I cannot. If I do not remain here, the demons will exterminate my kind.”

Garn shrugs off his jacket, pulls off his tie, then finally removes his shirt. Upper body naked, he turns around.

“You…”

Ambrosia is shocked. On Garn’s back is the depiction of a wolf, a large black image that is clearly the work of a god.

“Coyote has spoken to me. The Alpha is to the south. He has what you most desire.”

Ambrosia’s eyes widen as she remembers her talk with the Panoptic.

The [Lady] starts to slowly chuckle, which turns into a full blown laughter that forces her to hold her stomach.

During it all, Garn does not move. He quietly waits for his [Lady]’s reply.

Eventually, her laughter dies down, replaced by a smile.

“Put your shirt on, Garn. Go raid the vault for whatever you need, and tell my [Maids] to start packing my stuff.”

Garn’s clothes almost seem to leap onto his body with a will of their own. A skill for a [Butler]. Now redressed in less than ten seconds, he bows.

“It will be done.”

Garn starts walking towards the door to relay orders.

“Also,”

Garn stops and turns to look at his [Lady].

“Please prepare a missive for the covens that I will be unable to attend the emergency ball. Inform them that I will be busy raising an army.”

Garn neutral expression cracks into a slight smile.

“Thy will be done.”