They passed through the gate, broad doors giving way to a sea of black.
How long they walked through that darkness, they couldn't really say. The distance between their side of the gate and the far side was long enough for practically the whole army, supply trains and all, but the only blackness provided no landmarks, nothing to measure progress against.
Something about that yawning black was disquieting, so the Imperial soldiers were glad when they finally reached the end of the tunnel, the bright light of the sun a relief.
Well, it was a relief until they realized there was nothing to protect them from the sun's fierce rays. For miles in every direction, all they could see were sun-baked dunes and sparse, pathetic foliage clinging to them.
Soldiers clumped, trying to hide in the shade of the gate, before their officers urged them onwards into the hot sun. Sand had already began to build up in their armor, grating against their skin.
Wyverns sprung into the air, spiralling upwards until the army and gate below them had shrunk into little dots. From that tremendous height they could see very little, just the endless sands and a few dots- birds, probably?- circling over the sand.
The men were beginning to grumble already- there was no loot or glory to be found here, under this burning sun.
Thankfully, before their supplies grew too stretched, they found hints of civilization, a few worn paths in the desert sands. Nothing much, but it was a sign that the world they found themselves in was settled…
Their scouts reported even greater things, a splendid city to the west. They began to march, hiding from the burning sun as best they could, cooking in the day and stumbling along in the night.
All the while, shapes circled above them, riding the hot air without a care in the world. Eventually, some of the wyvern riders caved and flew up to catch them- some meat would be nice, and they were too much like carrion birds for their liking.
They definitely weren't carrion birds, though. Seeing them up close revealed human features, barring the splendid wings. Of course, the wyvern riders tried to catch them, but the harpies proved dreadfully evasive, and when the riders got too close for comfort, the harpies would use strange magical staffs to blow them clean off their mounts.
No native woman was worth that much trouble, although the fact that they were being watched clearly unnerved the commanders. Even if these harpies were just the scouts of another backwards, tribal people, the Empire had more trouble with those sort than they'd probably admit.
This was a meager, savage land, and they imagined it could support more than an equally meager, savage people. But there was more to this world than these dunes. They hoped.
Someone had been wise enough to keep a significant portion of the army near the capital. They all remembered the Deioderan, knew that internal enemies could spring up as surely as external ones… but the reports they were receiving were different.
The Harpies who flew messages across the barren sands had made reports, bringing messages of a gate of purest marble in the desert sands and of the army that has emerged from it.
(The sort of trouble they could have caused had it been the season for pilgrimages…)
Thousands of soldiers leapt at the chance of arranging a counterattack, antsy and chomping at the bit to pick a fight now that they had a chance. The fight wasn't just in Halless or Corvuria- it was at home!
And all the while, Jadd chaplains and clerics whipped them up into a frenzy. They would defend the holy city from these savages, they would bring the light of faith to these barbarians from the Gate… they would triumph, as surely as Surael's sun rose in the morning!
The news of mounted scouts alongside the constantly circling harpies shook the Imperial forces just a bit. They definitely weren't alone anymore- the army of this land had caught on, and as pitiable as they might be, it would be best for them to be ready.
Specters. Specters, lurking in the dunes. The army's new awareness made them easier to see, faint figures lurking in the sands, impossible to catch in their home terrain.
Cowardice, they thought. Clearly, these desert dwellers did not know how to face a true army, one which thundered across the land, fierce and terrible.
(They knew wars more terrible than the Imperials had seen, and they knew that harsh sun and shifting sands could destroy armies as surely as saber or shot could.)
Slowly, gradually, the Imperials began to stretch, their tight columns growing less cohesive, the men stumbling rather than marching, the auxiliaries forming their own little packs as the situation grew more dire.
Then there was a terrible roar, and a column of the Empire's finest was torn asunder, a bouncing ball of death punching through plate with terrible ease. Soon, the sound was echoed, repeated tenfold, and the first ranks collapsed under heavy fire.
Cannonballs, fleeing soldiers, and sudden wind all kicked up the sand, turning the battlefield- if it really deserved such a name- hazy. Sun beaten and beleaguered, the Imperials could only panic as cavalry sprung from behind the dunes, kicking up plumes of sand even as their riders lifted… staves?
A thousand smaller roars, and the air was filled with smoke as well, the incomprehensible terror of musket and carbine shattering imperial formations…
Those that did manage to draw together found themselves under constant attack, the roar of guns and being joined by the twang of bows as projectiles killed stragglers, thinning formations until they were loose enough to be shattered by charging horse.
Across the army, the less radical fighters attempted surrender- and surprisingly, some of them were even accepted. Many an Imperial couldn't help but worry when their surrender was accepted by fierce, proud, Elvish officers.
The real trouble came with the wyverns- creatures long since thought extinct on this side of the gate- which magicians and cavalry had to slowly, painfully bring down, lashing out at it with lances and spells until the terrible beasts finally gave in.
Of course, light cavalry thundered across the dunes, making sure to hunt down any stragglers. There was much they needed to learn about these strangers from beyond the Gate.
Some things about the interrogation weren't surprising, just infuriating. The invaders, from some foreign empire, had gone through the Gate with hopes of finding plunder and slaves. Slavers and barbarians… not an incredible combination.
More critically, they were heathens. Polytheistic, discriminatory heathens. Savages who needed to be introduced to the light of Surael, and who needed to be reminded that all, regardless of species, had a place in his light and a role in his crusade.
Fortunately for these… "Saderans" who lived on the fire side of the Gate, the Divine Herald had given permission for a holy war. They would not have armies as large as those doing battle in the far east and west of the Empire, but they would have more than enough to savage a people who were not even familiar with the concept of gunpowder yet.
By their thousands, they flowed towards the gate, setting up posts for resupply and field defenses along the way. Elvish and human officers drafted battle plans, dwarvish engineers hauled guns, harpies flew in the sky, and gnolls practically salivated at the prospect of savaging an unprepared foe.
Yet above them all, a white sun on a field of orange flew. They had all seen the light, and they would bring it to even the deepest dark.
Even as they traveled that terrible dark between worlds, they did not waver. They knew what was waiting on the other side.
The various vassals of the Empire gawked at the army which had sprung from the Gate and set up camp Alnus. Ditches, stakes, and earthworks surrounded the hill now, a complex tangle of moats and walls that would make any assault a slog… but it was their duty to assault it regardless.
By night, the invader's camp was lit by a thousand glowing mage-lights, meaning that they knew where to attack, at the very least. And attack they did, pouring across the field and towards their defenses.
As they approached, gunners atop the battlements waited for just the right moment before loosing their shots, sending a hail of nails, broken horseshoes, glass, and shattered rocks downrange. The effects were devastating, and were only complimented by a furious deluge of magical attacks- if there was one thing their old world wasn't lacking in, it was magicians. Barely any Saderan arrows struck true throughout the whole night, blocked by magicians used to stopping bullets.
His name was Jaher, and he was part of an expedition to scout out this backwards land. Not alone, of course, for they had no clue what foes still lingered, but still, it was quite exciting. There was something romantic about it all, a land teeming with promise…
Sometimes, though, he'd look at the sun from the corner of his eye. Or rather, this other sun. one whose rays were so much gentler here then in sun-drenched Bulwar, one that overlooked an alien people and alien pantheons. It warmed his face like Surael's sun, it nurtured the plants and lit the days, but it wasn't the same.
Still, his worry was eased by his companions, a motley crew who reminded him of the adventurers in stories. A mage or twk, an elf, a harpy for scouting, even a gnoll.
(Jaher fought to bury the initial fear, the age old terror inspired by height and bulk and claws. Even now, even once they were civilized, gnolls were unruly. Prone to disobeying. Some said they could smell fear.)
Still, they were all under one unified command.
...
The elf was of the sort of complexion that made him think of the west, far flung Anbennar and Venail. Pretty enough, he supposed, although the poor girl was positively mired in tragedy.
"An apostle?" Jaher scoffed.
"Yes. An apostle of the God Emroy!" Jaher couldn't imagine how that garb was considered holy, but…
"If you say so."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I am beholden to no God but Surael, thank you kindly."
The apostle stared at him for a moment before bursting into laughter.
"You Halaanites sure are something!"
Italica had undergone changes recently. They knew the Empire- well, their Empire, considering the sudden entrance of the Jadd Empire doubling the number of Empires on the scene- had left them for dead, so the invaders were looking, dare they say, tempting. Even better for the Countess and her staff, they were radically accepting of non-humans… with a caveat.
They didn't care who you were as long as you worshiped their god and devoted yourself to his work. With a great Jadd army circling around their city, setting up camp and helping to repair what was lost… well, the Countess would do well to consider their teachings. (They had seen what their cannon could do to walls.)
"My lady," the maid was carrying a gift from one of the Jadd generals, a beautiful orange tome with hints of gold. It must have been horrifically expensive to produce.
Myui lifted it, examined the golden sun on the cover, the delicate and completely unfamiliar text across its face. She couldn't read it, of course, but she handled it with all the care a holy object deserved. With all the care that was expected of her.
A brief look inside revealed handsome vellum and impossibly uniform letters. What scribe could be so consistent? Eventually, she reached a picture, beautifully illustrated and rich in color. (This was a spectacular gift, one which she'd have to meet spectacularly.)
The image was of a man- no, an elf, his ears were sharp- standing on a mountaintop. His face was invisible, turned away from Myui to look at a magnificent sun, painted in shades of red, orange, and yellow that she struggled to name. The sun almost seemed more detailed than the elf, every inch of it covered in delicate tongues of flame.