Dusk was fast approaching. Red sunlight flooded the valleys and crevices of the mountains, highlighting every bump and crag in the terrain with painstaking detail. The evening was relatively silent, with the occasional bubbling of lava flows, and pebbles cascading down the mountain side, hissing as they splashed into the molten rock. The silence was rudely broken by the sound of gasoline engines sputtering to life. On a hill to the East, a truck laden with soldiers crested the top followed by another, and another, making a small convoy of vehicles driving down into the valley. Each truck swayed back and forth, as the suspension dealt with the rough terrain, rolling over rocks and fissures in the ground. The soldiers with their guns slung over their shoulders huddled together on the backs of the trucks focused on keeping their balance as they were jostled from side to side.
Three Grunds drove in the front seat, constantly adjusting the steering wheels as they bumped along. In the front truck a Faethern officer sat in the passenger seat, his wings neatly folded behind him, and his mask wrapped firmly over his nose, so as to avert the noxious volcanic fumes. The convoy continued for a while longer until they reached the bottom of the valley, where an unusually large crevice opened up in the ground.
“Bídsteall!” The officer barked. The first truck slowed to a standstill while the others followed suit.
The men proceeded to hop out of the trucks, talking among themselves, slinging their guns over their shoulders. The last two trucks contained ordinary soldiers. The officer climbed out of the passenger seat of the first truck. His face was completely covered, as he wore both a red bandanna around his mouth and chin and a helmet and goggles, all for protection against the elements. His uniform was mostly brown leather with a few parts the same blood red as his bandanna. The tag embroidered on the right side of his chest read “Morccidere”. Above the name were sewn in three golden stars, and below it outspread golden wings. The only non-protective part of his uniform was the pair of polished brass wings fastened to the sides of his helmet.
The sound of heavy boots crunching into the volcanic soil sounded from the back exit of the truck, followed by five more. Six knights of Reich exited the vehicle, carrying a variety of heavy weapons with them. They lined up in front of the truck silently and awaited orders. The shiny patches on their chests bore their names written in tiny golden letters.
“Your orders are as follows!” Morccidere continued to command. “This is the last and FINAL nest. We are to exterminate everything and let none of them escape.”
The general turned to the Knights. “Forsplider! You and the other Beorngrund go first, the rest will follow.”
(@Noiy go ahead.)