All eyes were fixed on the sky. All the dead, lifeless eyes. Above the clouds was a ship, slowly descending into the planets atmosphere. The people of Necronis watched on, curious and cautious. The last time a foreign ship had arrived at the planet, it was the precursor to a Demonic invasion many centuries ago.

Mortimus Vrax stood on a landing pad in the far southern city of Skolvard. Factories and towers stood all around him, pumping black fumes into the air. Slowly, flickering lights lit up the landing pad, illuminating up a battalion of 20 old generation Nekrax troops. All were deathly still as the ship lowered.

Mortimus had received contact from the ship earlier that day, however the messages were garbled by the thick, corrupt atmosphere. So he gave the ship permission to land to make contact in person. His coat flapped around him, a constant layer of dust floating off it. He raised a gloved hand and held his hat as the ship descended.

Menka set down her ship carefully on the landing pad, careful to not squish any of the denizens. She had heard tell of a planet covered in undead, with no necromancers. As a necromancer, this had interested her greatly, and unlike the rest of her kind who were off on Drakenhelm trying to raise dead dragons, she decided to further her own dark arts.

The exit ramp lowered slowly, and she walked down the ramp, her ragged coat and armor underneath protecting her from the dust as she walked forward. Most of the undead before her were rank-and-file, like soldiers, and there was one that lacked such an appearance. She walked towards him.

"I take it you're in charge of these undead?" she asked, brushing off her coat as the wind carried more dust onto it. "Quite the little welcoming party you've got here. Were you expecting something more?" she asked, crossing her arms, her shotgun slung across her back.

Mortimus looked her up and down, his skull on full show as his scarf blew in the wind. He spoke with a dry yet friendly voice. 
"We did not know what to expect to be honest." He turned and nodded at the troops who turned and marched to the exit in synchronization. "I am Lord Mortimus Vrax, head of Galactic Relations... Just Mortimus will do. You are?" He offered his hand. Behind him, the city of Skolvard rumbled and groaned. A busy industrial city without the sound of life. Steel chimneys pumped toxic gasses into the air as giant cogs turned. Every now and again, figures dressed in ancient looking armor with gas masks or in tatty grey boiler suits would walk past, carrying a variety of boxes and packages. All the figures seemed to have some sort of injury from patches of dried blood to missing limbs yet all moved and worked as if nothing was wrong.