The voice was cold and almost metallic sounding, consonants clipped and sharp in the gloom of the room. The home of the Vekosh was harsh and dark, located just on the edge of the desert and dark most of the day. It was perfect for a race of creatures who skulked in shadows and thrived in darkness, hunting and hurting those who needed the light to flourish. “Where?” rasped the king of them, a large creature with scaled skin and red eyes. His bulk was squeezed onto his throne, a chair made of iron and bone, as cold and harsh as the man himself. Clawed fingers dug into the armrests of the throne as he surveyed the minion who had come bowing and scraping in. The Kaspersi were like a plague to his people. Taking all of the more fertile areas and turning them into havens of technology and growth. They spread like fungus, growing faster than the Vekosh could wipe them out and leaving only the ruins of what they left behind for his people to try to salvage into something worth having. The only way to overcome it would be to wipe out the Kaspersi, the most populous of all the races that called Blessini home, and Nambroc, the king, was salivating at the chance to do it.
