I, Expectation

"My name is Edmond Julius."

"My rank is of little importance, though had the mud not been caked up to my neck, you might offer something of a salute."
      "Such traditions--these little customs of ours.."
"How quickly are they are forgotten down here in the dark."

Luca sat up groggily as the watch captain blew furiously on his whistle. The shrill metallic cry threatened anyone who still lay among their ranks deep in what little sleep they could gather, before soon the shrieking stopped, and the order was given. Boa groaned silently, lifting her head and rubbing her temples gingerly. 
"Why so loud?" She grumbled, her ears flared back in protest as she gathered her equipment that had been scattered about. Gobi quietly reassured her as the rest of the team readied themselves, Luca throwing on his pack and nearly stumbling from the weight. Then, they resumed the march.

  The lanterns flickered as they were jostled about upon the horse's back. Hundreds of the jingling lights hung in the dark, bouncing about as the convoy walked through the black veil. The men and women that marched beside those lights did so in an eerie cadence, a steady rapping of boots across stone and mud, drowning the cavern in a sickly, wet rhythm. When finally they stopped, it was just before a sight beyond comprehension. 
  The troops stood and waited before the Great Lift as slowly--ever so slowly, they began to descend. The chasm swallowed them instantly, its gaping maw obfuscating the world below in complete nothingness. Pale clouds hung at its surface, and the flapping of unknown creatures reverberated around the hundreds of meters of eroded rock. Spires of pure glass tore through the chasm at random, shimmering from the lantern light and casting beams of orange every which way, and atop each spire--spiraling around their length were thick, feather like vines that hugged the smooth surface and hung at random. The order given, descend in groups of 2,000, their bodies stuck close as they boarded the lift, its ancient joints groaning in protest. Gears the size of buildings shuddered as their moss covered surfaces churned about, sending small creatures skittering away. Luca felt his heart through his throat as they descended, standing among his platoon. The caverns had a way of making you feel small, yet this feeling was alien to even a humble tin miner such as himself. 

Above the lift, Second Marshal Premier of the 110th Royal Armored Pioneer Corps, Edmond Julius sat atop his horse. It was a Duskschire breed, rare yet deeply sought after for their hardiness and easygoing nature. More squat than an average breed, its pale grey hair and long mane flapped gently along in the occasional cavern breeze, the buckles and fittings rattling as he walked beside his Premier Marshal and second in Command, Reyacina, a tall, pale woman with long, pointed ears and piercing black eyes--the eyes of nobility. She trotted beside him with smile that betrayed her stoic visage, offering a mug of steaming brown liquid to the marshal. He took it graciously, slowing his horse's gait to sip it gingerly. 

"Thank you Reya." He said quietly, returning the drink. Her response was one she often gave to everyone she met, a gentle smile that could melt even the five hundred meter ice crags of the Whitewaste Barrens. 
"You looked as though you needed that." she offered before passing his horse with hers, a tall, black stallion adorned with a blazing red and blue banner of her family crest upon its standards. He chuckled as he caught up beside her.
"Only a few more days of the march after we're down there, and then finally we can get started on these pathways." he said, pushing up his now drooping glasses. Reyacina nodded politely, and beamed again.

"I imagine you're excited to be off your horse so soon?" She mused, shooting him another grin. Julius chuckled yet again. He was no fan of riding, however much he had attempted to hide it from those around him. Yet they knew each other as one might know a brother or sister. Having grown up in close proximity in the days before the army, far away in Her Majesty's Ringed City, they were accustomed to one another's company quite well. It was by fate, it seemed, that they would meet to command this army, "yes, fate indeed,"  Julius would often say. He played with those memories in his mind before his attention returned to the matter at hand. A third horse appeared to his left, and a flash of blue described him an enlisted man. 

Premier General Aldous Drakengrad was said to be a man so convinced in his own ability that he had little need for caution--among the officer ranks at least this was the rumor. Yet few had actually met the man, for such candlelight dinners and niceties were beyond his comprehension. If, perhaps they did wish to meet this man, they would be better off seeking the deepest pits or the most danger-ridden steppes within the caverns, for that is where Drakengrad would feel the most welcome. Now, the man rode to left of Julius, his untamed mess of red hair tied into a long tail that bounced behind him. His face was sharp, his eyes a firestorm, and throughout his muscular frame, brilliant copper scales adorned his flesh, signifying his bloodline, and large, curled copper horns sprouted from his temples. He regarded the marshal with a mix of respect and indignation that was palpable in the thick air that surrounded them, and his voice was thunder.

"We'll be on the Lower Stratum in four hours, by my estimate, sir. Do you want me up here or shall I head down with the next group?" he asked.

Julius rubbed his chin, and adjusted his glasses again.

"I think it would be best if you were overseeing things from down there. The premier marshal and I shall manage the vanguard, thank you general." His response was measured, collected. Practiced. 

He had no disdain for the Wildman before him, nor was it in any interest of his to harbor it, yet he knew such feelings were not mutual. Julius heard the pride of dragons was as guaranteed as a dust storm. 
--And dust storms were an everyday occurrence. 

Drakengrad exhaled sharply in a way undiscernible, and rode off, melting into the blackness of the earthly blanket around them all. His white horse was a beacon as it disappeared into the mass of carts, uniforms, towed artillery, guns, supply wagons and everything else that had amassed upon the Great Lift like a great big dinner plate full of strange, unpalatable gray and blueness. 

Julius watched as his field engineers touched the rocky tablets, their sigils humming to life. He watched as those mighty gears creaked to life once more, and turned ever so slowly. He watched the moss covered chains, each link the length of a hundred men and the width a hundred more, as they lowered that great dinner plate, the sound reverberating in his very bones. 

He watched in silence as at last they disappeared behind the pale yellow fog that always hung in the air and on your clothes, briefly illuminated by the shafts of the Godvents that led to the surface world. He watched and then gestured for the one hundred thousand greyish blue uniforms behind him.

They waited hours for that Great Lift  to return, and thus began to board.