(This I will handle differently, I wanted to get it started before I let it get forgotten. If I stick to this story I will be putting into multiple posts in this thread.) The ringing of massive chains swaying echoes in this place, a place of chitin, screams and nightmares. The chains move because this place itself also moves, a small world of its own that has been crafted with hands following the will of monsters. This place, like a small world enclosed in a shell, was one of many such small worlds. Through lightless voids and realms of anguish these worlds have moved, by the will of a king. A king with an enclosed world of his own, much greater than this one, but that King's world was now motionless. Anger and grief had drawn the king to battle, not a battle of conquest as these worlds had always moved for but a battle for vengeance. But that King had found no vengeance here, he had taken his realm and a fleet of worlds, wasted them in a show of power and cruelty. Worked his army into the enemy, called upon more worlds to replace those he had chosen to abandon for their weakness. Now all the worlds lay still, including his own, vengeance was not found. "The King is dead!" Ir Khala shouted not in anger nor in despair but with joy. Now was the time to take what she wanted, now was the time to claim freedom for herself and the brood she would create.