In the State of Stygia, within a dense, forest region, an immense pyramid structure resided. The power base of the Cult of Set. Led in this world by it's High Priest and Chief Servant, Ram-Amon. One who, even without the Black Ring of Set, was an exceptionally powerful sorcerer in his own right. Guarded by his magics, and an army of Serpent-Men. Reptillian creatures, that resembled a crude cross between man and snake. Capable of assuming a human guise, though that was not required inside the structure, the reason why it was not used here. As such, what would be seen would usually be either the guards, who would be decked out in tough leather trousers that featured metallic crotch-guards. Heavy leather boots, along with torso plate armour, forearm guards and horned helmets. The priests, on the other hand, would have only a simple white robe. Unless they were more senior priests in which case the robes would be more ornate, with symbols of their diety, Set on them.
Most of the others were human slaves. Made to perform the heavy labour necessary for the construction and maintennance of the temple and farm the surrounding areas.
In the temple throne room, Ram-Amon, High Priest and Chief Servant of Set, and bearer of the Black Ring of Set resided. Contemplating his next plans for expansion.
Deep within it's bowels. A lone being patroled. His path lit only by a single flaming torch, deep shadows enveloping his darkened sights. The stench of death and black magics at their strongest here. The air, still and cold. With each step, a click of bare, taloned feet would be heard, only by himself. The thick, green scales that decorated his thick, muscled build seen only by his eyes. And much of it could be seen in better light, for other than a ragged strip, that barely covered his crotch, and almost nothing else, he was naked. Atop his neck, a reptillian snout, where a long, thin, forked tongue would flick out every now and again. With yellow, slitted eyes that caught all in their view. A creature aware of his brief, eight day existance. Aware that just as easily had he been given his life, it could be taken away. One filled with hate for his Master. Hatred of the fact that he was property to him, and nothing more. Just a slave, alike to the ones tending the fields, where at least they had the Sun to warm them. Placing the torch within a free holder, he sat cross-legged on the cold, damp floor, hands on knees, and thought to himself. In spite of his youth to the world, he knew he could not live the way he was indefinately. He needed to break out of his prison, his forced servitude. And he would need to do it soon, while he still had the will to.
After taking a couple of deep breaths to help compose himself, he raised himself back to his feet, took back the torch, and resumed his solitary patrol.