“Long live the Knights!” Genetically wired to live six to seven centuries, Guyunne Guyanne proclaimed words to his little people (citizens of Gameon) after knights of the O-8 Order—Themas—vanquished dreaded volve. “Long live the ogres!” So, too, the portly prime minister blessed Woogle, Ugghs, and large, thick-bodied, ogre-friends who had warts, big toes, and broad shoulders. Knights and ogres combined forces; and they beat back snarling beasts that sometimes snatched and ate children.
Bloodied, buried in sharp rocks at the bottom of a cliff, vultures pecked, ripped, and gobbled-up bits of monster volves shortly after they’d plummeted to their death. Afterwards, all members of the food chain, weasels, scants, mice, scayflies and more, enjoyed whatever remaining morsels vultures left them.
Nayans had victory. Springtime, the Indians, little people, and knights celebrated with ogres. Their new land is alive. Fish, game, rich soil, and fresh water are abundant. Yet, while they’d won a nasty battle, additional threats loomed over Gameon.
Presently, the sorcerer still plies his hand to his bag of demonic tricks, those being, beasts of Boregador, mindless Knorr, and driveling Gorts he toys with. He creates, twist minds, and punishes. Too, now his new beings (clones called Borzanite) are bred to achieve the first step in his far-reaching plans.
Dark Ancients: the battle takes shape.
“My queen,” Lord Ze said to his bride. His eyes gleamed as he spoke days, ago. He stood near Ayzyon’s side as she lay in bed. “I’ve accomplished much in a short time. I execute my plan. Torg, Trot, and Baizan are to satisfy your every wish. Let me know, otherwise,” he went on as he prepared to work concoctions of his dark art.
She cast her exotic tourmaline eyes to him. “I will let you know husband,” she followed. In Castle of the Caves, in her comforting chamber, their new son (Boryion) suckled at her firm yet tender breast. “As I said, they have always been attentive,” she said words smoothly in her translucent, silky, shimmering pearl-green gown. “Continue to do your good work. I will take care of your son. He will grow strong and, in time, join your endeavors. And I am fine. I’m becoming more vibrant day by day.”
“As I can see,” he said. “Before long we will have resplendent moments of our own. But for now, I will leave.”
He leaned and pressed smooth, wanting lips to hers. She smiled, breathed in deeply, and then bat eyes and one hand brushed his weighty forearm.
The necromancer prepares. His cauldron brews a boiling evil; and he works mind and hands at crude equipment. Experimenting, he refines new creations that might stomp the Nayan, the Plebeonite, and little people. Then, he said the trifling insurgents might submit to his invincible will.