Piren Aurelis did not much care for the idea of leaving the other generals on the front lines without his supervision, but there were times when other priorities came first.  While the Blessed certainly would be able to make an advance if they chose to at this moment, that they had not taken advantage of other opportunities to do so as of late made him less cautious than he might have otherwise been.  In any case, there was business to handle.<br/><br/>Most of the forces of the Cursed remained on the front lines, but his elite soldiers, the ones he had bred himself, traveled with him to the dread city of Jahl'Ra.  His winged demons were still running reconnaissance for him, along with his dragon.  If they did come across anything amiss in their path forward, it would be easy enough to handle.  He did not expect anything wrong, though.  The borders were secure and it was almost peaceful off the front lines.  Oh, there certainly were the negative repercussions of the abuses of his siblings.  Wasteful.  Foolish.  Sadistic.  But perhaps that is why they had such powerful at their beck and call.  Fear was a useful tool.  Still, Piren had little time to practice it on his own people, there were propaganda ministers to handle matters such as that, after all.<br/><br/>No, Piren's was clear enough to his own eyes.  He would leave his legion of orcs, over a thousand strong and each bred to be the epitome of their kind, and smarter than the average orc to enhance their effectiveness.  Soldiers the lot of them, not mindless beasts or savages, but disciplined and well equipped.  Let the more foolish generals squander their resources.  And besides, those other orcs, the ones that did not know his touch, were weak, ineffectual things compared to his masterpieces.  And even his masterpieces paled in comparison to the demons he had crafted.  The flying unit would remains outside of the city with the legion, fifty lightning fast, aerial killing machines.  If any of his more power hungry rivals would try to strike down the core of his forces, they would find their odds stacked against them.<br/><br/>His dragon and the remaining fifty demons would enter the capital with him.  Fortunately, the dragon was still small enough that he could walk the streets without issue, and he was a clear sign of Piren's place in power.  Of the demons, half composed his elite guard and would remain on hand at all times.  If his rivals were to make a move, it would be logical that they would try to strike him down when he was at his weakest, rather than trying to cut off his support.  That, of course, would be a mistake.  None of his elites were shorter than nine feet in height, and they were far faster and stronger than any demon had a right to be.  As for the other twenty-five, they had their own orders.<br/><br/>As his massive convoy came across the city walls, Piren could not hold back his amazement.  Every time he visited Jahl'Ra, the ossified walls of the city awed him.  It was a monument to the power and the terror inherent in the might of his people.  Piren did not have to call out orders for his men to follow them.  He merely lifted his hand straight into the air, finger tips pointing up, before balling his hand into a fist and pulling his hand back down.  The orcs and the demons and even his dragon understood his command.  Operations were to begin according to the preset plan.  And so, his elite guard in tow, Piren made his way into the city of death, the capital of his people.