"The Syndrohssil never used to be the wretched creatures they are today. Once they were Théoneons no different from us, but greed and the hunger for power stained their minds and souls. They sought to overthrow the gods from control of the world and attain the control for themselves." Carge said as he dragged a Syndrohssil corpse from a bush.

"Why did they not succeed?" Mica asked, onlooking Carge carrying the body.

The body was a heap of stringy muscle and sinew, dyed in blood and reeking of a bitter, diseased smell. Carge began checking the belongings of the Syndrohssil for anything of use; to which there was nothing.

"Well, legend has it that two tribes were approached by this disloyal cult of Théoneons. Both were appauled when offered to join the cults ranks and become apart of thier scheme. Unsure of what action to take, the two rebelling tribes informed the gods of the treachery which was happening." Carge continued as he walked over to a nearby stream to wash his hands of blood.

"The gods were at first sceptical of what was said, but Myaaru the goddess of the divine balance foresaw such an uprising was inevitable." Carge returned to Mica's side by the camp fire she was sitting by. He squated down beside her and tossed some fire wood onto the embers.

"Myaaru used her powers and disguised herself as one of the cult members and oversaw what they were planning. After their intentions were made clear she enacted retribution on them. She cast them off to her realm Myaar..."

"The realm of the underworld?!" Mica enquired in a shocked tone.

"Yes, there they were punished for the plans they had made and treason they had sown. They were burned in the very fires of Myaar til their fur was black and matted, their skin turned to scale and dark like shadow. Horns grew upon there heads; forever labelling them as traitors to the god's will. Once they were released they could not face the sunlight on the surface anymore, too scarred from the fire's power. They sought refuge underground in caves and caverns throughout Théone, kept apart from those who sided with the gods."

Carge looked towards the body and snarled under his breath.

"From that day they have waged war on the Théoneons and sought revenge on the two tribes which caused their downfall. They adopted a new language and embraced shadow and blood magic; that's why they are called Syndrohssil." (Plagued Ones in ancient Théoneon)

"What became of the two tribes?" Mica interjected cautiously, stirred by Carge's story.

"It is said the two tribes were gifted with a fraction of the gods power, to act as enforcers incase another uprising was to occur. But it is not known what powers they recieved. It's not even known if those two tribes exist today!" Carge seemed cynical as he utters the last sentence, seemingly unbelieving of such a story himself. He looked at Mica who was wrapping a new grip around her bow; she seemed to believe the story.

"In any case we are at war with the Syndrohssil and without the aid of the race of Men we wouldn't be sitting here right now. We owe it to the humans to aid them where we can; for saving are race from the marauding horde of Plagued Ones." Carge added cleaning one of his swords with an old rag. The night was soon upon them and the campfire had almost gone out, Carge rose to his feet an looked deep into the woods and took a smell of the air.

"They're coming...ready?" Carge growled in a stern voice.

Springing to her feet Mica, notched an arrow on her bowstring and aimed into the trees.

"Ready!" she said with a smile.

Carge smiled back at her and with that the two dashed into the forest, as the sounds of Syndrohssil warcries echoed throughout...