Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters here that belong to Naruto that I put into this story except for my own OCs. Neither do I own any of the character in any of the crossovers I do. I'm just using them in this fanfiction and I have no money so don't bother suing me. You'll just lose money instead of gaining any. And remember to leave a review!
A Warning –
At an immense fortification constructed many years before and expanded on by successive generations of engineers, the city-come-fortress that comprised both the Butcher's Block and the densely packed city of Hargolik, the aged chief of the twin structures, Fara hobbled about with the aid of his two best students. He was an old goblin, having seen nearly fifty-four years of work go into the Block. Under the urging of his students and those students who had become masters, he had that day finished a comprehensive volume of what he had learned over his many years.
Now, with Fribik and Keluid on his arms, he ferried the heavy, hand-written manuscript down the Path of Boots, the single long boulevard that ran through Horgolik to the many gates of the Block; the street's stones had twin, inch-deep ruts from long years of carts and carriages, and a foot-wide, foot deep, iron-grated gutter for the removal of water. While the rest of Hargolik was comprised of narrow, winding streets and many buildings that either hung over those roads or joined above them, the Path of Boots was nearly thirty feet wide, as flat as could be made while still allowing for water to run off, and as straight as a ray of sunlight.
Fara had walked that Path many times, in many uniforms. In his early days as a child, he recalled chasing mongrel dogs with his friends and stealing things from the merchants, as a soldier he marched out into the world of Man on more than one occasion, returning with arms full of loot; and as an engineer he oversaw the continuing expansion of both the Block and the city, always looking for ways to make things more efficient.
But his days were much behind him, and with his health failing, he had been easily convinced to create the work in his arms out of a desire to pass his knowledge to others. His destination was the printworks, a great building where in great presses ran low-quality paper over blocks of movable type for simple things, and where one masterful pressman, using a machine purchased from Men by agents of the Army would work its magic with vellum, bind the pages in stiff leather and hinge them with brass. All told, a single volume would cost more than any mere worker could hope to make in a year, but Fara had amassed a personal fortune during his tenure and would spend half of that on publication, donating the rest to the Engineer's Guild due to his lack of an heir. Well that was before they came to this new world and the machines that could be found here.
"Are the new ships ready?" Fara ask as he looks over to Keluid.
"The stream ships are all ready to set sail," the younger goblin girl said.
"Good the troops need those supplies," Fara said.
"The cost of staging that fake war as well as the war on Land of Water was more then the coin counters thought it would be," Fribik said.
"Yes that is always a problem," Fara said as many wars had been stop not because one side won, but because the money to run it ran out. (1)
"Once things settle down we'll be able to start making money again," Keluid said as this world have so many new and amazing inventions to discover. A brand new world was out there and it's all there just waiting for someone like her to find them.
"By the way where is Torgar?" Keluid ask.
"Knowing him he should be getting himself in trouble," Fara said shaking his head.
Down the street -
A slight shift of Torgar's head sent the heavy fist sailing past and the dwarf wasted no time in grabbing the orc's forearm and gave it a twist. Pushing, twisting and driving on with his powerful legs, he took his opponent right over a table and a chair. The two of them crashed down hard, wood splintering around weren't the only ones in the tavern who were fighting as many different races had their fun. Fists and bottles flew wildly, foreheads pounded against foreheads, and more than one table or chair went up in the air, to come crashing down on an opponent's head. The brawl went on and on and the poor barkeep gave up in frustration, falling back against the wall and crossing his thick forearms over his chest. His expression ranged from bemused to resigned as the damage to his tavern but would be repaid by them, as they always paid for wrecking up their drinking hole.
"Might have known you be here," Fribik said as he grabs Torgar and drags him out of the building.
"Hey it was just starting to be fun," Torgar said as he brushes himself off.
"The ships are ready and you and your team started another bar fight again," Keluid said.
"Fine, fine," Torgar said. "I gather my men and we'll be at the docks."
"Well hurry the train to the port is leaving soon and this is your big chance to impress Lord Naruto with your craft skills in getting the machines up and running at some of the work sights in Water," Keluid said hands on her hips.
"Don't rush me," Torgar said.
"If you get there late you might have to work on the machines in the quarry and not the distillery," Fara said as he knows that no dwarf would ever pass up fixing up a distillery as their race is well known for their drinks.
"Why didn't you say so," Torgar said as he runs back into the fight to pull his friends out of the mess before the ships leave and their chance to show the world what a real drink is as nothing beats a dwarven ale.
Elsewhere in Mordor -
As usual, Skarabax was a busy place. This hotbed for criminal activity was the hub for every kind of illicit trade. But with the raise of the Fox Lord some of the blackmarket trade had slowed to a crawl as his laws made those who dealt in those kinds of things very hard to find buyers or the items they needed for it. But some of the other blackmarket trade were still around as drugs and the sex trade were still a big seller. One of the most popular places in the city, was the Fleshpot, a brothel-come-office building that made for some interesting business deals. Here could be found things as mundane as a Human or Orc willing to spread her legs for a few coins, to some more exotic delights, such as the trio of Black Elves who would only be purchased as a group. The most expensive piece of pleasure of them all came from a Turned Elf, found wandering the forests years go, but just as willing to obey as the day she was marked. There was a rumors that she was one of the first, that she belonged to an Orc Warlord and only left his side when he died.
But such things were usually beyond the means of the Fleshpot's typical customers and the Men who frequented it most often typically paid for an Orc they could spank and slap while they went about their business. The girls never complained, they could easily break a Human who went to far, and every now and then another unclaimed body would end up at the Troll's Plate, a 'restaurant' in the loosest use of the word. Tonight, the Girls, as the Orcs had taken to calling their little group, were lounging about on the great couch that could seat all five of them. They had a new member of their group, and envied her for the attention she would get.
The leader of the group, a tall, powerful looking female with close-cropped black hair named Ganaul stretched out and yawned. As the oldest, she didn't get as much attention as she wanted, but when an Ogre or another Orc came in, or a Human with odd tastes, she was the one they usually chose. Her seventeenth litter had just been born a month ago and she had grown restless from the recuperation time that was required before she could bear again. Given the choice between holding a sword or pumping out pups, she had chosen this and never regretted it; the company always changed, she enjoyed the sex, and was fully willing to be sodomized during the time when her unborn pup made her unusable by her more 'endowed' patrons. Ganaul was also thankful for the tattoos that kept her as tight as her first night, for without them, she would have wound up in the 'fair', where she would be servicing much bigger cast for entertainment instead of adding two litters a year to the Orc repopulation effort. Which all the races are doing as all of their numbers are smaller then they should be because of the long years of wars, so all are doing their best to build up their numbers.
Her oldest friend here was Zikuli, currently in the early stages of her fifteenth pregnancy. This one was a White Tusk by blood with hard muscles and shaggy white mane, but she had taken to smoking greyweed and her pups had never been the same quality since. Most of the time she was either on her back with a customer, or on her back with a brain full of smoke. Ganaul really wished she would quit the stuff, but without it, Zikuli just cried a lot. As good a friend as she was, this business had begun to take its toll upon her.
Next was Halyui, much younger than Ganaul, and equally as enthusiastic as the older Orc had been at that age; lithe and lean, adorned with curled red hair and parading around totally nude most of the time, she dove into everything with reckless abandon, favoring groups over individuals. This youthful Orc had some human blood in her somewhere, for she had been blessed with flat teeth, even though her parentage was full-blood Orc a dozen generations back. Some girls had all the luck.
On the far end of the couch was Telkura, the closest thing Ganaul had to an adversary. She had arrived shortly after Ganaul and made a few tries at gaining the upper hand, all of which failed because under her gruff and snooty exterior was a miserable bitch with no people skills. It wasn't the tawny yellow hair or the wider-than-typical ass or the pendulous breasts that kept her from being picked last all the time; it was the total hatred of the entire place that made her undesirable. This Orc had thought that going to Skarabax would be a little more interesting than hefting a rifle or being an officer's piece of ass, and found out that she would not simply be handed respect because she spread her legs for coins.
The newest addition to their company could not have been a month over eleven, 'mature' age for an Orc, even if they were pretty small most of the time. Dazinli had been the daughter of an officer or something, brought here to keep her from being used to sponge up musket balls; neck-length copper curls fell from her head, she was even more slender than Halyui, looking more like a green-skinned Elf had it not been for the small tusks, red eyes, and thick neck. Her tattoos were scarcely a few days old; she had been told what to expect while she was here, and it had taken a lot of Ganaul's 'motherly' instinct just to coax her out of the room all five of them shared. Currently, she was seated on her elder's knee, the way Ganaul presented all newcomers, making sure the crowd knew there was fresh meat; and the older Orc envied her for all the attention she would receive. Until the next one arrived.
Gananul hadn't left the city when she was in the late-stages of childbearing, she had seen some of the other Orcish 'temps' arrive, get 'pupped', and leave, returning to which ever city they'd come from to bear a litter in the relative comfort of civilization and get a handful of silvers coins for their trouble. All told, Skarabax saw about thirty Orcs come through here a month, and of those, only five were permanent residents out of choice or circumstance, and Ganaul preferred the party atmosphere here over the dirty and smoky cities. Here the air was clean, the liquor was good, and the crowd changed; she'd enjoyed her time at Skarabax and the city's lord was a good friend of hers; in fact, it was Karaber who was organizing Ganaul's party for her tenth year at the Fleshpot, and in return, she would be bearing him a pup or three out of respect and friendship.
She thought back to the early days, when Karaber's encampment had two or three wooden buildings and a stable, before the great stone ramparts had been built, before Karaber's fortress had existed, when she had wandered into camp with three other Orcs just looking to make a few coins on this side of Mordor. Karaber had taken to them, had a comfortable house built and named it the Fleshpot; the first organized business in this patch of wilds where there was no law, save his.
Now the Fleshpot was a four-story structure with central heating, running water, and a kitchen that worked around the clock. All told, there were at least fifty partners here, each catering to a different kind of perversion. Lord Naruto had much of Mordor rebuilt once he took control of Mordor, rebuilding much of the old and crumbling buildings. Many at the time wanted to kill the upstart but over time they all came to see him as the hero they need to survive the war against the light races.
There was Delnak, the Half-Ogre with breasts larger than Ganaul's head who liked letting smaller Men and Orcs have their way with her, thinking they were in power; tonight she was entertaining five Midborn Elves. Those elves, the product of Black and Light had minds more like Humans and brought great bundles of greyweed with them every time they showed up.
On the other end of the spectrum, there was the unnamed Elf that had wandered into the camp and became Karaber's property until he found out what men were willing to pay for a night with her. Ganaul had only met her on a few occasions and was always ill at ease when it was around. Her people had reduced this Elf to an animal so many years ago, and for some reason, instead of giving her cause to chuckle maliciously, Ganaul saw her as a victimized child and had the strange urge to cradle the little thing in her arms. The orcs back then used magic runes that the elf is covered in to turn her and others into sex craze beast. Word was that she was the first of the Turned, that there was evidence and documentation to the fact, but since Ganaul's reading abilities were wanting, she never bothered to pursue that avenue.
But she was not the only Turned Elf here, her counterpart was a strong and forceful male who had arrived on his own, made some quick words with Karaber, and found himself entertaining the few women who came this way. Ganaul had made the mistake of entering his room by accident one night and quickly found herself on her back; the Elf may have been small, but he forced himself upon an Orc who was twice as heavy and almost the same amount as tall, and Ganaul enjoyed every minute of it.
While thinking back to how that scrawny Elf had manhandled her, it took a nudge from Zikuli to bring her back. A stately looking man was politely inquiring about the price of the new female, the way he did every time fresh meat was in. He was a noble from somewhere on Mordor, and he had been a regular customer at Skarabax since the beginning; there wasn't a girl that came in who didn't end up with at least one litter from him, but since his tastes preferred the petite ones, he almost always took the youngest of the Girls.
The noble held out a token that said he had paid for the newcomer, gently took her hand, and left with a polite bow. Thinking back, Ganaul realized she had given birth to four litters from him in her early days here, and wondered if he was still as good in bed as she remembered. Once Karaber had pupped her up, she would have to reacquaint herself with the good duke.
Her train of thought left her once she spotted a dark elf entering the room. Most of his body was covered by a heavy brown cloak but he carried the symbol of darkness on the cloak. It's been awhile since one of the darkness nins came into town. But he didn't look or feel like he was here for pleasure. He looked around the room till he spotted Karaber who had stop by for some fun.
She manage to overheard him say. "Karaber the queen's have need for your two turn elves." Before a drunk orc slap her rear and ask if she wanted some fun. She left with the orc leaving her boss and the elf behind.
Mordor Dark Elf Village -
She is Anuk, daughter of the elven hero Vengal. She was one hundred and twenty-one years old, the youngest daughter to the senior wood elf ranger commander. She was born into a powerful and influential elf family, never wanting for anything. She had the best schooling, the best clothes, the best foods and lived in luxury as far as the elves considered the definition of that term. She was courted by only the most handsome and influential elves, but her hand had already been promised in marriage to the son of another powerful and influential family. Matarn was extremely handsome, and well established within the wood elf ranger command structure. He had risen to his position by virtue of his family and their standing, not by any of his own deeds. He had been involved in only limited combat against the evil races and in small raids against the dark elves, his family not willing to risk his life in the mundane duties of a soldier.
Anuk had gone through the standard wood elf ranger training and completed it with barely passing marks and a little nudge from her father. Anuk had never wanted to be a soldier, feeling herself above such things due to her family's influence and closeness to the royal elf family. She had gone through the training to please her father, and enhance her standing among her people, as well as attempt to impress Matarn. Anuk knew she was beautiful, and she made no big fact about that. Her five foot eight height came from her father, her long rust colored red hair and cerulean blue eyes she inherited from her mother. She weighed a hundred and twenty pounds, most of it muscle, but still with some baby fat spread out in places that she worked hard to control and get rid of. She was still considered a child by elfin respects, and this bothered her to some degree. She had long tapered legs, satiny skin and a tight, head turning ass that she worked hard at keeping that way. While she has a small burst but it went with her slim body type. Her cheekbones were high in a regal fashion, her light red lips soft and full. She had allowed Matarn to paw her body at times since she was to be his wife anyway, yet his groping was usually roughly done with no sense of what he was doing. Anuk had never been with a man, ensuring Matarn would have that honor.
Her capture had changed all that. The mercenaries that had captured or killed her small ranger unit were vile and disgusting men. And they were exceedingly brutal. Most of them were the most disgusting human men she had ever seen, and their appearance did nothing to quell Anuk's dislike for humans to begin with. She had been captured pitifully easily, one of the mercenary slavers hitting her on the back of her head during the battle. She had awakened to find herself in a large cage like cell, her head throbbing in pain. She felt the magic collar on her neck immediately, and gasped as her fingers inspected it. She could almost feel the drug working its way through her system. Anuk had looked up when the cell door opened and the enormous man had come in. She had flung herself at him in rage, intending to shred his face with her nails, but he simply backhanded her inexperienced and still woozy body across the cell and then pounced on her back as she tried to recover. He had shredded what remained of her uniform until she was completely naked and feeling exposed and helpless.
Then with the magic of the collar doing half his work for him in making her more docile he then proceeded to rape her savagely for several hours, taking her virtue with grunting animal like noises while tears had streamed down her face. He had even gone so far as to cum all over her naked body before he left her to wallow in sorrow. That had begun the cycle she had been living for the last nine months she was held by them. She had lost count of the men who had raped her, sometimes two or three at once, and with the collar keeping her from resisting for the most part, she endured acts so vile she did not even want to remember them. The collar and the fervent hope that her father would come for her with Matarn and rescue her was the only thing that kept her from taking her own life.
That was when the Fox Lord rose to power and sent troops to deal with the slavers. It turns out that the slavers have been taking any female of any race to make into a slave and the Fox Lord was stamping them and their kind out. The Mordor troops made short work of the slavers and freed all the slaves from their cages. But when it came to dealing with the good races slaves, some of them they just let go since some were useless to them but they kept her and the other elves as well as some of the sex slaves and brought them back to Mordor with them. Once on Mordor she along with the other elves were given to the Dark Elves. It turns out Mordor was gathering as many elves as they could which she later learn was to cast a long forgoten spell to transport Mordor to another world, using both black and white magic. Since all elves are magical beings even if they couldn't cast a spell they could still add their magic to the spell. After coming to this new world from what she has gather is the homeworld of the Fox Lord, she and the other elves taken were now the slaves of the Dark Elves.
She's the servant to a magic user name Dysea. Her mother was the leader of a small tribe of dark elves who took a high born elf as her husband and thanks to her mix bloodline she's able to use both magic energies that can be found in the bodies of High and Dark elves. Mid-born elves of High and Dark elf birth are able to use magic that can only be found in either race. While she bosses her around, having her carry her magic items whenever she goes out on a job, from what she has seen of what the other elves go through she had the lucky straw.
Anuk sighed hopelessly as she's dragged to the lower corriders of the stone tower in the middle of the village, as she carries Dysea's bag of magic items. As Dysea and Anuk made their way further into the earth, Anuk heard an unexpected but familiar commotion as they approached the lower wing of the tower. She heard the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, of lewd and wet sounds, of the cries of pleasure and perversion. Anuk shuddered at these noises, she knows those sounds too well as Dysea also took her pleasure from her flesh. She gasped as Dysea opened the final door to the lower chamber. Inside was something she had feared and hoped to never see. There was her friend, Kreya, in the midst of a sea of passion. Tall, beautiful, and strong dark female elves surrounded her, Kith assumed. Blade Dancers, who even in the throes of passion, never left their weapons out of hand's reach. The six blade dancers were deriving their pleasures from the former ranger captain.
"Still at it, I see," Dysea smiled as she watches the six Blade Dancers took their pleasure from the Moon Elf on a pile of silk cushions. "Well finish off and get her on her feet. We have a long way to go and I like to leave at the soonest."
Even though, by physical appearances, the blade dancers were formidable opponents, they obeyed the commands of their mistress as quickly as possible. Kreya cried out in pleasure and pain as the six stepped up their fucking, viciously pounding against Kreya's flesh. When Dysea and Anuk reach them the six elves were standing over the worn body of their toy that their mistress left them with. They all took pleasure seeing the elves that drove their kind underground that only Red Death the dragon could remember anymore, reduce to nothing more then mere toys for their pleasure as unlike their lighter skin counterparts they enjoyed sex and are very open with it.
"At once," the lead Blade Dancer said.
"About time," Kreya said as she wipes her face of juices. "I had just enough of being the target for sex all the time."
"As if you didn't enjoyed it," one of the dancers said.
"Only if you were good at it," Kreya said causing the dark elves to all stare at her.
"Oh really now," Dysea said smiling as she takes a small bottle out with red pills in them. "Did you know that the High Elf hero, Minhane is being used as a stud to breed new non dark elves? And that to keep up with the hundreds of elf women that he was given a drug that turned him into a sex monster? He can't go one day without having sex and always has at least a dozen women in his cell at any point since that last woman who was with him alone was almost killed by him as he wouldn't stop? If my girls are not your taste how about we throw you to him and see if you carry his child by the time we come back?"
"No," Kreya said eyes wide. She didn't want to end up as a breeder as the dark elves have started to call the elven women who were now carrying a child in them.
"Well then," Dysea smiled as she pops a pill into her mouth and a sudden tent formed underneath her robe. "I guess that, I can spare sometime drilling you in minding who's in charge around here."
"Don't forget us," the leader of the dancers said as she takes some pills and hands them to her sisters. "We like a second go on her as well."
"Anuk come and join us," Dysea said smirking as she holds up a futan pill for her as well. Seeing the look in her eyes she adds. "Either join us or you can join your friend under us where she belongs?"
Anuk seeing she had nowhere to go step forth and took the pill as well. Kreya eyes were wide as she sees her friend taking the pill. She looks around at the elves around her as they closed on in on her, she had heard about the futan pills but this was the first time she saw it in use and judging from the looks in the women's eyes they're going to show her how it works for a very long time.
In Land of Water -
The dark elf Rhouzanthoun was smoldering as she thought of what her lord was doing with his women. Right after he landed he had gone and had dinner with the Water Lord to talk about the treaty between Water and Mordor. Her lord never wanted to take over but with some much wrongs being done in the country and no one stopping it and his friend Greywing asking him to free Water from those who were destroying it for their own personal gain. The Water Lord agreed to the treay after some of the terms were hammered out first, he did agree that the nobles and the Hidden Mist village were out of control but he couldn't do a thing about them and thanked her lord for getting rid of them without having a mass killing of bystanders. All the troops in Water were under orders not to kill bystanders or plunder them as well. The only ones they could steal from were the nobles who they're ordered to get rid of. But most of the loot that was taken is going to go and help pay for the cost of maintaining the army and supplying them. After that he quickly left to see the needs for his women who have been away from him for so long. She really wises that it could be her with him now...
When she opened the door to her room of the building she and some of the other troops are using, Rhouzanthoun instantly noticed that something was wrong. A candle glowed in its niche above her personal shrine to the Cold One, one she had not lit. Worse was the fact that someone was in the room with her, but when she glanced about in the near darkness, there was no one to be seen. It wasn't until she went to extinguish the candle that the presence made itself known.
"Rhouzanthoun," came the voice from somewhere behind her. She spun and drew one of the stilettos that kept her hair in place, stabbing the air where she assumed the intruder to be. But air was all that she found. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and for the first time since theose human soldiers had tied her down and ravished her over a millennium ago, Rhouzanthoun was afraid.
Had she been lax in her training? Had her senses failed? Someone had entered her quarters and let her know they were there, but to what end? Had an enterprising member of the Assassin's Guild decided that it was their time to climb the ladder of power in the Dark Elves clans? Even thought they are banned from killing each other like they use to, there were still some who clung to the old ways of gainning power. With a word, she called forth a fraction of the power her magic had given her and the room glowed as bright as though the light of the sun had been stolen and released here, far below the surface. And there was no one for her to see. Rhouzanthoun had called forth this spell a few times and each time it left her target reeling, but there was no one there with her. They could not have been invisible, for the Cold Light shewed everything there was to see, so had her assailant been enchanted thusly, they would be as obvious as the tapestries on her walls. It was then she saw who had entered her room. A figure, if it could be called that, seemingly made of smoke, lay upon her couch, its hands folded over its belly. Rhouzanthoun moved to strike at the vision, but it shot up and a wisp of smoke shaped like a hand grabbed her by the throat.
"You always did move before thinking, Rhouzanthoun," came that same voice she had heard before, only this time, at speaking volume instead of a whisper. "I envied you for that talent, even if you chose to use it solely for slaughter."
The smoke took a more solid shape, and there, before her eyes, was a translucent image of her mentor, Grauz-Il-Iuren, whom she had poisoned almost ten centuries before. Rhouzanthoun's eyes widened; Elves, regardless of their breed, never created ghosts, those were for Humans, Dwarves, and all the other finite races. An Elven ghost was a thing unheard of. The hand released her throat and Rhouzanthoun's knees buckled, she panicked and skittered backwards until her back was against the wall, muttering to herself, 'this isn't possible' over and over.
"Impossible," replied the ghostly figure. "Nay, improbable, is more like it. Just because an Elven ghost has never been seen before, never meant there was no such thing." Here, the spectre seated himself upon the couch, the very same one Rhouzanthoun had let him die upon; for after his passing, she inherited all his possessions and titles, as was the custom in political assassinations. "I've heard the phrase, 'in death, all questions are answered' muttered by some of the more intelligent undead my students captured, and I must say that it is true. Every question I had ever pondered but was unable to answer was made so very clear to me; even those mysteries of the Cold One himself were revealed to me."
"W-what purpose does all this have," Rhouzanthoun stammered, "Why have you chosen to haunt me?"
"It was not my choice, dear Rhouzanthoun," he said with a sigh, "I was sent to you, to give you a message and perhaps guide you through the undertaking you seem so dead set on taking."
"The Cold One has spoken to me before, directly to me on several occasions, why should I trust you as his messenger?" But after coming to this world the gods that the races of Mordor followed just weren't there anymore as it wasn't their world.
"Because the Cold One's attention is focused elsewhere for the time being, from his prison he feels a dread future is on the way, and only with an active hand, can he prepare this world for its arrival." Grauz-il-Iuren's spectre rose, took a few steps towards the altar, once his, where Rhouzanthoun's copy of the Ta'Aur Kamhan sat. He reached out to touch it, but his fingers seemed to pass through its cover. Withdrawing his hand, he continued. "The Light races are on the edge of fighting among themselves and the magic of our world is fading. The gods of our world are doing what they can to save the magic but without a dragon to fuel the magic, it's a losing battle. The gods of the Light Races are trying to have their followers to open a gateway to this world, but as there are no longer any black magic users left on their side the spell can not be cast. But if they do find a way to this world, it's going to be another war between the light races and the dark races."
"You came to warn me?" Rhouzanthoun ask.
"Not just you but all of the dark races. For the races of light know that the magic of their world is fading and will do whatever it takes to take what they need. Even by doing the unthinkable to do so. They're trying to catch demons to use their magic to replace the lost black magic. There are there kinds of evils. First is fiercely determined, yet never realized the horrors of their actions. The second understands the profound atrocities they are committing but that just made them want to do more. And as for the third is the worse that many of the light races are, for noble ends always justified their cruel and unusual means. My body is dead, but my spirit returned to its source, I yet exist; all dead Elves still exist in some way. If this world is not prepared, none of us will exist. Once they reach the point of unlocking a power that even the Cold One fears," He turned to look Rhouzanthoun directly in the eyes, and as his smoky form disappeared, he said three words, "None of us," The words hung in the air for a moment, and then Rhouzanthoun felt that she was again alone.
Still, the ghost's words came to her, that the world needed to be prepared for something. But what? What threat was the other world that would pose such a threat? She dismissed this, if Grauz-il-Iuren had wanted her to know all the details, he would have told her; that much she remembered about him. He would return and make clear his words at a later time. And Rhouzanthoun knew she would still end up cowering like a child when he came again.
Author's Notes –
1 – The quickest way to stop a war is to cut the money supply as with no money to pay soldiers with or buy supplies the army would quickly disband.