The people of White Sun woke to the grinding of cogs and the sound of whirring propellers overhead. They gathered in the streets and pointed upwards at the massive airship that filled the sky. Distorted laughter echoed around the city and many had to cover their ears at the unnatural sound. It came not only from the vaguely human shaped figure at the helm of the colossal contraption but also from the thousands of creaking mannequin like creatures outside the walls.
To say that these entities resembled humans would be generous. Most were humanoid with two arms and two legs and while they moved stiffly they could almost pass for living, breathing natural creature.
However, there was no mistaking the twenty foot monstrosities for anything other than what they were; abominations.
Seemingly stitched together from many different hosts, each of these horrors had a unique look. One would have dozens of arms each ending in a sharpened bone, another would have every inch of its chest and back covered in a mutilated face. Elves, Dwarves or Men, the faces all shrieked in fury and pain outside White Suns walls.
In between the giants and the average sized troops there were quick darting figures, barely visible as they weaved in and out of the ranks of soldiers. Those with quick eyes spied tiny child-like shapes with skin resembling porcelain and teeth like jagged razor blades, dripping a viscous black fluid. Each of their miniscule fingers end with a corkscrew shaped syringe that dripped the same horrid liquid.
Longtime slaves inside the city looked on with dread at the sudden realization that their lives could be much, much worse.
The creature aboard the airship demanded that Rajaat be brought before him and the slaves trembled at his voice as he identified himself as Viktor Lark, Lord of Lark House.
"Come out knave, face a Lords justice." Viktor called down, tauntingly. The words hung in the air and the city held its breath, waiting.
They didn't have to wait long, Rajaat had already begun moving before Viktor had begun to speak. He reached the top of the tower alongside his sun and his cold eyes swept across the army of puppets in front of his city. He didn't speak, he just made a sound of mild disgust and the sun began to glow brighter, giving off an intense luminous aura. There was a barely audible suctioning sound as it drew oxygen into itself, growing more radiant to the point of blinding.
With a casual gesture, Rajaat unleashed the suns energy in a concentrated beam of light at one end of Viktors battle line. He sweeps his hand in a lazy arc and the light follows his motion, obliterating every puppet that is touched. The puppets screams are as distorted as their laughter and they howl as they are seared beyond the point of leaving ash.
After the lights arc is complete, there are few puppets left on the field and none of them intact. The heads that remain, whether attached or not still scream their awful inhumane sound.
Most noticeable, the beam left behind a twenty foot deep trench where it had been directed, with the sand up to ten feet away from its edges being turned into glass from vitrification.
Upon seeing his army decimated, Viktor fled the city in great haste. His current whereabouts are unknown.
This confrontation is colloquially referred to as "Viktors Folly" "The Last Flight of the Lark" and "The Searing of the Strings"