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The quiet darkness of the night or the working lights of the day that do not penetrate into the ancient forest; it did not cause the fire in their souls and the savagery of their wars to change their taste.
Deep in the uncharted forest behind Eclipse Thicket, the Conquistadors lived.
As the shadow of the Great Striagorn's wings fell upon them, Mystic One leaned back on the skull throne the Fanatic had gifted her.
The fanatic had this throne built with some of the skulls the Conquistadors had taken from their enemies and presented to the Fanatic. Mystic One was his favorite, fiercest warrior. And her clan, with their warlike brutality, was renewing the Fanatic's energy with the cries of their enemies. For that reason, this throne would be best suited to Mystic One… Moreover, they were honorable warriors. The skulls they took from their enemies were not due to fame or money.
There was only one reason for all the blood that was mercilessly shed; Family and Honor.
They were the Conquistadors. The most honorable of conquerors. They wouldn't conquer for blood. They wouldn't kill for fun. Striagorn's breath cleansed their souls, as the heat emanating from the magnificent lava of the Magmar realm warmed their hearts.
They just rushed to their cries for help and made fun of tyrants trying to prey on the weak. It was their greatest pleasure to make them taste their own cruelty. The lands they conquered, the enemies they killed, were the miserable who attacked only the weak. Moreover, even when those tyrants fled to Erifarius' lands, they were not deprived of the pleasure of slaughtering them. Those tyrants whose screams as they were beheaded echoed in Shaera's ears.
Strength; if it is not in the hands of a soul blended with conscience, it serves only one truth; to evil…
The end of every dishonored tyrant was either to gain access to the Fanatic's skull collection or to be chained to the Mystic One's throne.
“There are cries for help from County Vurdalia. The human race wants our blood,” his right arm approached with smiling. As his white dreadlocks hair fell over his green shoulders, the red of the lava flowing on his checkers began to glow, reflecting the cries of brutality that came with the desire to shed blood.
Despite the smile on his face, the ferocious call of the warrior inside him felt as if it could be palpated. So that; Even the birds and insects of the ancient forest were silent… In a few steps, the man reached the steps of the throne. With a wild grin; he glanced at the chained human slaves, who looked away from him in fear.
They were the beggars. The oppressors who used to wave their swords thoughtlessly in their hands were now their toys. Them; They used to be terrible monsters told in tales of hidden dreams... Until they met the Conquistadors...
They all flinched as the leader's savage chuckle filled the slaves' ears. In each of their minds was the brutal carnage they had witnessed after that chuckle.
Mystic One whispered as he studied his fingernails; "Let's give them the blood they want then..."
“But,” she said, and the executioner, who had begun to move away from her excitedly to make her preparations, stopped.
His back was still to Mystic One. But he knew what she wanted. A sly but cute smile spread across his face. So that; The clan members standing a little ahead of him also realized what was happening and started to get excited.
“We haven't been captured in a long time,” Mystic One muttered. “Hearing their leader's pleas would cheer me up quite a bit,” she said, with a captivating sassiness.
She was spoiled; because she was using her power against evil and enjoying the justified joy of it.
The young man returning to his leader; “You will come too, right?” asked.
"Of course I'll be with you, but this time it will be yours alone to take their heads."
“Hmm…” muttered the man; “You are accustoming the new to the fun.” This time, his grin spread all over his face.
“Come on, let's get going before it's too late,” the leader said as she raises from her throne, and the slaves around her backed away in fear.
“Why does she want to enslave their leaders?” whispered a newcomer to their family. Meanwhile, everyone was on their mounts, with war paint on their faces and spells that would seal their victory, awaiting the order to move.
In fact, the young girl had asked the question for not directly to someone. But the answer came from Mystic One.
There was no fear or bewilderment in the eyes of the young warrior, who was suddenly face to face with the leader, who turned around. The leader smiled. I mean, they took a fearless young man among them...
She placed her hands on the young warrior's shoulders; “Because it is easiest to kill, and dying is an escape for him. But capturing someone they think is mighty allows them to see who has the real power… You see the pitiful people around the throne.”
The young girl shook her head, never taking her eyes off her leader for a moment.
“Each of them were corrupt oppressors who were considered powerful in their own time.”
The new warrior understood. By enslaving them, they made them realize what they really were, showing their nothingness and weakness to both them and those who believed in them.
“Besides, it's a lot of fun to listen to the frightened cries and cries of help from a self-powered tyrant,” she watched as her laughing leader turned and got on the Schnitzel. Contrary to the simplicity of its name, Schnitzel was a Gold Gromdrag. Reflection of Striagorn, this mighty beast was dangerous to anyone who came near it. But with the touches of Mystic One, the only person to whom he obeyed, he was tamed a little.
When they arrived in County Vurdalia, they found that the attack was continuing. Mystic One would stand aside as she said, but he couldn't resist the blood's call.
“But he said 'this war is yours',” a mutter of rebellion escaped the lips of a former warrior. She was a beautiful girl with hair over her shoulders falling before her eyes.
“She didn't say 'yours', she said 'new ones'… I think she gave up on that too,” another whispered.
It was the clan's healer who said, "Come on… Don't hang your face, there's enough for all of us..." Of course… She was only healing for her clan; She was like an angel of death on the battlefields.
Meanwhile, Mystic One was ruthless as she pulled one of her swords from the belly of his enemy. The man's scream filled the battlefield. Shaking off the spilled guts that caught his sword, he turned to another approaching behind him and beheaded him as well.
“If we wait any longer, we'll have none left,” they all followed suit as the leader's right-hand man entered the battle.
Unfortunately, the attackers weren't enough for them all. However, they had taken their leader prisoner as they wished.
The human leader began to tremble. He was surprised that the brutality he saw, was more than he expected . Mystic One, after tossing her hair; turned to the man, with fire in her gaze.
“I won't have to deal with this too much… His screams and please seem to be immediately mixed with the sounds of the birds in the forest.”
The human leader would almost be grateful for the chain around his neck. His delight that cruel death had not found him was proof of his pitifulness.
Attached to the newest warrior's mount, everyone heard the pleas of the human leader as he began to drift deeper into Eclipse Thicket; And Mystic One's voice echoed in the Magmar lands:
“To conquer the oppressors!”
And then the mighty voice of his warriors shook the lands of Men:
“Conquistadors!”
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