The Cult's Pope was sitting behind a desk carved in marble. To his right was Nicolas Buer, and in front of him, behind the desk, stood a black skinned prisonner.

He was tall and muscular and his skin was covered in complex tattoos. The man had been taken hostage a few month ago and had rotten into prison for months. Unfortunatly, his clan did not comply with the Cult request, and if not for the new situation, he would have been executed and his head sent back.

"I would like to offer you a deal ..."

"I won't betray my clan. I know they sacrificed me, but i would have done the same." Stoically interruped the prisoner.

The Pope clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"It isn't linked to your clan in any way."

He stared in his the man's eyes a few second before continuing once he was sure he would be interrupted.

"My man and I managed to get our hands on some "exotic" creatures. Unfortunatly, they aren't really cooperative and i was hoping you would give us an hand in taming them."

"You haven't been the kindest of jailors ... " Ironically answered the man.

"We know ... that's why we took another hostage." smiled the pope.

The door was opened and a guard dragged a little black and bald girl into the room. After seeing her, the prisoner became noticably paler and looked back to his jailor with eyes full of hate and anger. But the Pope was faster.

"Let's not get too angry. From my knowledge, your clan always treated her like an outsider and you are the only one who still care for her. She can't be used against them, so i will use her against you. If you were to do anything stupid, she would have to be disposed of."

The Pope fakely amical smile was just growing wider.

"We just need you to raise them into fine war beast. If we are satisfied by the final result, i can swear that we would free her."

The man had been pushed into a corner. He no longer had the choice.

"Bring him back immediatly and get started. They should be more malleable when they are young and they are growing fast."

Finished the Pope as he turned toward Nicolas.

A few days later, a prisoner cart containing the Tamer arrived at the Alban Fortress. The journey had been short thanks to the exemplary state of the roads linking the capitol and the border's Fortresses.

The cart stopped in front of the prison and the prisonner was immediatly escorted underground by 2 elite cultists dessed as guards.

The fortress could host up to 50 000 soldiers in case of emergencies, like a assault, but the massive forces needed to sucessfully siege such fortress would easily be detected weeks prior to their arrival and the permanents residents of the citadel was lowered to 10 000 in time of relative peace. Even if the Cult had progressively replaced all of them, the soldier manning the fortification still kept the impression when outside the secret prison.

Before guiding him to his new cell, he was first brought to the members of the AR Division to be introduced.

"This is Oma of the Amar Tribe. He was sent here to assist us in studying the abominations."

Oma raised his eyebrows when he heard the name ... "Abomination ?.. sound ominous."

The mages guided him even deeper inside the facility, in a newly dug floor created exclusively to house and study the abominations. The cell had been replaced by special individual chambers, with a one way windows to observe them at all times. The old cell had always been used as a temporary  and inadequate solution.

After going throught the researcher's labs, they stopped in front an transparent enchanted door, on the other side was a grand hall, the numeroted rooms where spread on the three opposing walls.

Instead of opening the door, they took Oma throught a side door and followed a corridor that surrounded the chambers from the other side and where they could spy inside the room thanks to the one way mirror.

Despite the thousands of creatures he had seen in his life and his reluctance to help the searchers, he couldn't help but be fascinated by the Abominations.

He now only listened to his briefing with one ear, he kept staring at the monsters in their cells. From what they said, they formed some kind of clan or family; yet they didn't share any visible feature. He was actually getting impatient to start working on such fascinating creatures.

Somewhere in the Great Plains.

Walking amongst his kind, was Kalos, a bald Orc with a white braided beard and carrying a trident.  He was one of the rare champions orcs, chosen and blessed by their Chaotic God. He was once nicknamed 'The Small' for his relatively small size amongst his kind, only 2 meter tall, but the gifts that had been bestowed to him were powerful druidic powers, so he ended up becoming 'The Druid'.

Thoughout the year, he survived in the hostile Great Plains until he ended up becoming the Elder of the tribe, their leader and intermediary with the Chaotic God. Today he was going to fight to the death against the Elder of a neighbouring major Orc tribe,  it was just a way for the winning Elder to gain legitimacy in the eye of their God.

None of his subordinate could read throught the insoundable and wise eyes of the Orc as he walk toward the makeshift arena. Already waiting for him, was Matar 'The Strong', an Orc just as old as him.

Once they were both facing each other in the pit. The 2 old monsters stared each other in their eyes, they actually had a good relationship, and so did their tribe, but their God wanted their tribes to fuse into the biggest Orc tribe to have ever roamed the Plane, one worthy to open a way down South, and this new tribe needed a worthy Elder.

Kalos had always been a close-quarter fighter, compensating for his size with the reach of his trident. When he received the blessing of their God, he decide to incorporate magic in his fighting style, and to use quick and light spell to gain an advantage instead of becoming a standart Magic class, fighting from distance with slow and powerful spells. He was baptised by his kind as a Druidic Fighter.

Contrary to his opponent, Matar was tall for an Orc and he was almost 3 meter tall. He was an experimented Fighter, he carried around an heavy shield taller then his opponent, and gigantic war axe that he used with his left hand. Matar was actually a legend amongst his kind, as he was the only Orc to ever kill a Rank 9 human Knight in a one on one fight and survive, but his old age and injuries had caught up to him and he had started to slightly slouch foward.

Like all of their kind, they were puppets with limited rights and whose intelligence was only used for autonomy in their conquests.

They knew it and intended to give each other a worthy final fight.

They were ready.

Without a word, they dashed toward each other.