Eragon the Lynching II: The First Age

[Cracklord]

There are five doors along the wall, each made of cuendillar, tionium and gromril, worked with elaborate wards and sealed with the true power.
Shaidar Haran places his hand over the smallest of the doors, and, with a flick of his mind, opens it.
Breeding stock.
The air within is heavy and musty, as though a hibernating mammal slumbers within. First to emerge is a pair of trollocs, taller then a man, but seeming smaller due to hunched shoulders and crooked, twisted backs. The first has a slavering, hyena like face and sharp ears, it's body coated with brown, mangy fur.
The other is slightly taller, a tusked pigsnout and heavy brow, with thick arms and bowed legs, covered in bristling, wiry fur.
They both lower their dark beady eyes, make snuffling, obedient noises. Behind them emerges a small, crooked figure, equally twisted, with wide, lamplike eyes and a wide mouth full of splintered sharp teeth. It breathes through two slits, and it's hands are far bigger then natural, stranglers hands.
The goblin presses it's head to the floor, whimpering.
Next to emerge have the vague look of the goblin on a far larger scale, the first one dark skinned, taunt across heavy muscle, with a brutal, craggy face and dangerous eyes, hair lank and greasy, fangs a healthy yellow, and straight, broad shoulders. It's ancestor was hunched and twisted, scrawny and sly, but just as dangerous in it's own way.
The orc and Uruk-hai both kneel, trembling.
Shaidar Haran is quiet, already calculating how many human females he will need to create an army. The number is staggering, but expected.
Next to emerge is what appears to be a dwarf, though wider and squatter. The first one to emerge is almost obscenely muscular, clad in armor of no real craftsmanship or quality festooned with spikes. His beard is shot with animal fat, and his face is tattooed with ugly runes, swearing vengeance and death to the rest of his race. His two wives are likewise decorated, wearing heavy leather skirts and headscarfs holding slightly behind him.
The thirdlings bow, grudgingly perhaps, but they do it. They never are satisfied with their place.
A cloven-hooved ungor with goat horns follows, it's muzzle more akin to that of a ravening wolf. Dark, spiral tattoos etched into his thick hide roll and shift in unnerving patterns as he moves. His nostrils flare, his clawed hands flexing with the urge to destroy. An iron amulet set with a glowing green stone hangs around his neck. With it, it would make herdstones and heart-trees where heards of mutants and twisted creatures would gather to pray to the dark ones children. It bares it's neck, shivering in the Dark Ones hands eyeless gaze.
The troll that followed was very short, muscular, and covered in shaggy gray fur. A barrel chest, disproportionately long, hunched, ape like arms, with powerful, long, thick taloned fingers. It's eyes were huge, and framed by a long, orange, shaggy beard.
It blinked sightlessly, then shrinks back slightly.
And behind them emerge more twisted mockeries, shapes inhuman and sinister, each one enough to strike a primal, terrified cord in human memory. Preserved outside time for an event such as this.
Shaidar Haran smiles then, but leaves them, moving to the next seal.
The air seems to get colder. then it does, frost blowing out from within, rime coating the floor and walls, as a being emerges. It is enough to make even Shaidar Haran shiver.
An Other glides out, incredibly gaunt skin and ice pale flesh all but glowing in the murk. It's armor changes color with every step, reflecting each of the shades of frost.
With incredible grace, it kneels. Behind it come two lesser Myrmadals, averting their features, and an Olog-hai, it's brutish features set in fury, as always. Almost five meters tall, with massive limbs, it looks capable of demolishing a castle wall.
A bull-like humanoids twice the height and girth of a man, obscenely over muscled with the maw and mane of a lion emerges behind it, it's feral eyes narrowed with bloodlust.
Behind, their is a cacophany of roars and howls, as heathounds, darkhounds and dire wolves snap and howl, chained in place behind bars, awaiting freedom. A Draghkar emerges, cringing at it's stronger kin, it's wings folded like some leathery cape, and a Jumara is chained in place, thrashing blindly. A crate full of eggs, most dark and hard, waiting to be incubated, or, in a few cases, fertilized.
Last to emerge is a snake like figure, his shifting cloak blending him into the background, all but rendering him invisible to most eyes, except for the telltale flashes of movement. Shaidar Haran could smell the magic on him, and didn't need eyes to know it was there.
These would be useful too, though he would need more.
The final door he left closed. He doubted he was ready to control what was inside, and at the present though it was best to leave well enough alone.
He stares at the mismatched creatures he would make into an army, and at last straightened his shoulders. He would need human women by the thousands, and human soldiers to fight while he begun it. The rate of conception and survival would be low. They would need to be rapidly replaced. But in the end... So be it.
He would create a cult to the dark one, as he had so many times, and give them power. In time, he would use them to recruit what he needed, until his army was strong enough to begin the war.
There was no dragon reborn this time. No legendary hero of light. All those who could challenge the dark one were dead, their courage taken with them to the grave. No ancient order of mystics held vigil. No comet blazed through the sky, proclaiming the birth of a savior. Nothing left to stop his masters triumph.
With that pleasant thought, Shaidar Haran stepped into the shadows and vanished, the two fades following him.