Worldbuilder Spotlight:

I saw it at night, my lord, and in the rare desert rain; Should truth be but a shadow of my glimpsings, then better death at our own swords than to stand against Nherru. Should it have seen me, I've no doubt I should have died on the spot. As it is, thank Tugra* for the Cauls of the Brethren of the Night and the sacred shadows they provide.
But, my lord, you shall wish to hear of the thing. A hulking form, half as tall again as the tallest of our people, its arms like pillars and dragging along the ground, its back lined with great spines. Its head was small, grotesquely so, a human skull almost, though metal in the lightening- indeed, its whole body was metal, and dull stone, and strange, ghastly lights- and its eyes, its eyes were horrible. Octagons, tiny and glowing, but not alive, and constantly shifting focus.
For ten minutes it waited in the rain, never moving save those horrible eyes, and I never moving either. And then the diplomats of Cicazl, their parasols raised against the rain, came up the muddied causeway and stood facing it. The thing lumbered forward- I heard a metal grinding above the rain- and faced the emmissaries of the Bishop In Battle. They held up the Tablet of the treaty, trembling before it, and it raised an arm and took the tablet in hand, its eyes scanning over it.
It threw the tablet to the ground- this, mind, was the writing of the Cicazl, inscribed on a heavy stone tablet- and shattered it to sand. Without a noise save the metal grinding, it lumbered forward, its eyes casting a beam over the Cicazl. They were dead in an instant.
The thing stayed in place for another hour, before slowly turning, its eyes fixing upon me briefly, and departing to the north.


-Report of a Scout of the High Ogres, on a (failed) treaty between the Cicazl and the Children of Nherru.

The scorching afternoon sun beat down upon us, glinting off steel, forcing us to squint at the advancing bastards of Nherru. I knew we were doomed, we all did. I'd heard about what those Soldiers were capable of, and they were everywhere throughout their ranks. There was a ghastly spluttering sound from behind me, and I nervously turned to find my captain had slit his own throat rather than face the assault. Coward. I envied him. It took everything I had to stand steady, my spear clutched in both hands, watching the steadily approaching Nherru from the city wall. Vaguely I wondered if they'd be taking prisoners this time. They hadn't further north at Barku, the impressive fort that had held our side of the river for over one hundred years. I'm told it had fallen in less than a night.
I managed to overhear the creaking of one of the gates over the pounding of my heart, there was a rallying cry from somewhere below, and a force of men began pouring forth. One hundred fifty of our most elite, I dared to have a glimmer of hope for one moment as they charged heedlessly forth towards the Nherru host. The army of Nherru halted, and three hulking Soldiers lumbered forth and awaited our men. I watched as the elite troops literally threw themselves upon the three. The Soldiers didn't budge, nor react, and our men attacked again, and again. On the forth try, there were three sudden flashes of light. More than half the elite troops fell dead. At this, the Nherru started forth again, the Soldiers seemingly coming to life and in an instant crushing the remainder of our attack force.
I wanted to cry, to scream, but I couldn't. I couldn't. War with the Children of Blood was not war, it was suicide of the most unnatural kind.


-Records written by an anonymous soldier captured as a prisoner of war by armies of Nherru. (Many such groups of prisoners escaped in the initial confusion caused by the sudden collapse of the Nherru's golem Soldiers.)

A soldier of Nherru (artist's interpretation)