Grobk licked his lips. His mouth had gone dry, again. It wasn’t the warmth; he could handle that. It was the air. He could smell it, wafting down the halls and through the vents carrying minuscule bits of dust and sand from outside. The Zozkar shuddered, remembering his passage on the airship and the searing landscape that passed below. He witnessed crescent shaped stones that may have been boulders at one point but were now worn and hallowed by the stinging winds. There were towers of rock that were wilted and leaning. From his perch on the airship he recognized that it had once been a mountain range but now it resembled some long dead beast which had died and was now slowly decomposing beneath the suns constant glare. There was vegetation, if one could call it that, coarse and bleached, often loose from its roots and rolling across the sand ushered aimlessly by dervish winds. And then there was the sand. It stuck uncomfortably into cracks, caused grit in the back of his teeth and even clung to his hair like some sort of parasite. Sand, with its endless rolling dunes, it was a dry mockery of the sea where Grobk came from.<br/><br/>The Zozkar tried to swallow. Entering the Reik base had been a relief. He was more than happy to be sequestered behind its concrete walls and steel doors. A comfortable dampness clung to the bases dark corners an unavoidable consequence of their steam powered civilization. For the Zozkar it was a welcome repercussion. The rest of the interior struck a personal chord with Grobk, his black eyes taking in all the base had to offer as he stalked down a thick, painted, yellow line. The Zozkar were, after all, a species that clung to their lavish history despite being faced with the reality of its ruin. The hanging tapestries of the Reik embodied the bases history perfectly.<br/><br/>Grobk unfolded a small piece of parchment and compared it to his surroundings. It was a news paper clipping from the Umbarmherzigtadt Chronicle, with the famous headline, ‘Ingenious Reik Scientists Force Time and Space to bow to Elven will.’ The hanging banners in the picture were immaculate and bright. Grobk lowered the parchment and scrutinized the banners. The Teutari symbol for dominion had become faded and the cloth edges were beginning to fray. Time, it seemed, had not yet surrendered to Elven will just yet.<br/><br/>Grobk arrived as the last of the Reik soldiers piled into formation. The murmuring in the gathering hall began to dwindle as the sound of high heels clipping into concrete grew. There had been music playing but Grobk only took notice when he heard someone humming along, somewhat out of tune. Grobk’s head tilted to the side when he spotted the source: an Undead thrall?<br/><br/>Did the Reik employ another necromancer he wasn’t aware of? Grobk sniffed the air, in an attempt to smell the magic that permeating from the creature, and nearly sneezed. More dust. The creature was humming. That showed a measure of independence. He wasn’t a mindless servant. How interesting, perhaps a scrying spell to learn more. Grobk’s fingers twitched before he realized that perhaps this moment wasn’t the best to enact such pervasive investigations.<br/><br/>Near the undead the next person to grab the Zozkar’s attention was the Paracelsi. She was stoic and unmoving. The Rittmeister was already on stage doing her best to stir patriotism with her speech. Yet, the Paracelsi didn’t emote. They were a hard to species to read. Grobk recalled abducting one earlier that year in a smaller Reik village. He had dissected her over four days. It was informative.<br/><br/>There was a male Minotaurus. While not a rarity it was still was somewhat uncommon to see a male this far from their tribe lands.<br/><br/>Grobk’s dark gaze continued through the crowd of misfits looking for the peculiar and uncommon until he settled on a Wolfentreuen. An older Wolfentreuen by the looks of her with a scarred face, and savaged ear, she a veteran of battle, clearly. Large chest, Grobk easily and maybe too eagerly, noticed. Perhaps she was simply well endowed or perhaps she had birthed a few litters in her long life he couldn’t be sure. She still wags her tail, it appeared time and injury doesn’t diminish eagerness and servitude.<br/><br/>The crowd of Reik suddenly surged and thrust and arm into the air. Grobk stirred from his investigations to look up at the Rittmeister, who also had her arm up. Was this the time to ask questions? Was raising ones hand customary? The Zozkar lifted his arm straight up while everyone else simultaneously dropped theirs. An awkward moment passed. Grobk lowered his arm. Perhaps this was not the time for questions just yet.<br/><br/>The speech had ended and Rittmeister Emlin Amsel, strode passed the formation at speed with the older hound in tow. The gathering left behind in the hall began to mingle. The Paracelsi was first to speak, advising she was to be the team’s medic. How interesting! Maybe she would value his insight on scalpel techniques he learned earlier that year.<br/><br/>Next the undead made comment about ‘making things dead and not being here to serve.’ Grobk felt it was amusingly ironic since being ordered to kill was essentially servitude.<br/><br/>Up on the stage one of the Reik approached and called down to the group, announcing herself as Faye Krieger Vizefeldwebel, apparently she was to be second in command. ‘If you want something to go boom, I’m the one for the job.’<br/><br/>Ah, Faye was a demolitions and explosives expert, Grobk noted, giving the elf a good up and down look. She had no visible scarring, fingers slender and intact, and she, the Zozkar smelled the air again, smells of magic not black powder. Faye was a magister. This was most exciting, Grobk held back a grin, realizing he now had an opportunity to see the Reik’s magical abilities in the field. The Zozkar, required no special apparatus to wield the arcane but the Reik had to utilize specially designed equipment to bridge the divide between flesh and magic.<br/><br/>“Hello friends!” Grobk announced while stepping in line with the rest of the group. “My name is,” The Zozkar’s dialect went from common to some form of dark speech, harsh to the ear, one voice becoming a thousand, all whispering, all ushering a single word, which no one at the gathering could comfortably tolerate or comprehend. Grobk paused, realizing he had said his name in his native tongue. “But you surfacers may not be able to pronounce that. So just call me Grobk.”<br/><br/>“I was hired as a specialist in the arcane.” The red skinned Zozkar lifted his staff and planted it as if by appearance alone it would reveal his artistry. “I also dabble in rites, rituals and history. Of which I am very eager to share with you all.”<br/><br/>Grobk turned then to look up at Faye, who still stood upon the stage. “Are we to wait for the Rittmeister to return? Or may we retire from this gathering and explore the base?”<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>