The Coming of Kalagann's Crimson Guard

	As the players come into the shadow of the massive fortification, amongst the broken glass spikes jutting from it's ruined frame, the massive gates, buckled as if a giant's fist has smashed straight through it. Giant metal plates ripped asunder and bent at all angles, made a makeshift portal into the palace grounds, through it the desperate defenders summoning the last of their troops against the coming onslaught. As the players charge through the breech, their fellow Thunder Warriors bellowing in triumph and excitement they see the plaza for the first time. multi-tiered gardens filled with jewelled marble statues of devotion rise for a hundred metres, fountains once alight with life have been cracked, and broken from the constant bombardment. Hedges and fields dredged up and fortified with marble remains leaveing cover everywhere for the defenders, and rising above it all is the palace itself. Domes and towers rise above each other leading to the single black glass spire that spears through the clouds itself and, despite the fighting, looms over the battlefield giving it an unnatural quiet. So unnatural in fact that it gives everyone pause.
	As the players look around so to do the rest of the Thunder Warriors notice. Despite being through the breech, no-one is firing as you, in fact all the Ursh you can see are staring directly at the black glass spire. This would not normally be a problem -slaughtering idle soldiers- apart from the fact that the constant lightning that has plagued the siege has also stopped, and the tension in the air has risen to the point where it feels as if it will tear itself apart.
	As if a great exhalation from the sky itself has washed over the city, a scream finally breaks the silence, followed by another, and more until the whole Ursh army is crying in unison. Men scratch at their own faces, tearing masks off to get at an invisible itch under their skin, tearing flesh off in the process. Even the normally stoic Uruntals beat their chests like apes of old, breaking ribs and mechanics alike, a blood and oil mixture gathering in pools at their feet (Fear Test) This bout of self-mutilation is punctuated by one final clap of thunder as lightning forks down into the plaza. And as it strikes the horrors only multiply. Where men's flesh is torn away by scratching claws a scaly red skin is revealed beneath the torrents of blood. Where limbs are broken and cracked they pulse with aerthic energy and reform into spindley extensions of tightly wound red muscle. Men's faces are twisted and torn as their very flesh rebels against them and reveal horned faces of monster covered in brass. The twisted machinations of Kalagann have finally come to fruition.
	Where before stood an army of men augmented with machine, now stands the bloody hand of Kalagann's disgusting relationship chaotic powers. Neither man no beast, these creatures stand. Blood red of skin, blackened horns, covered in brass iconography and armour, wielding flaming swords that scream agonies beyond any mortal voice. As these newly born horrors look to the Thunder Warriors through pitch black eyes with sharpened maws of fangs, they let out a wail of piercing screams (Fear Test) a red wave to smash upon the golden rocks.