The center of the Empire of Hips and Thighs represents the unification of all the Thighological denominations, and every Legate, Thigh Bishop, and the Empress of Meat have agreed that the capital of the True Faith must be guarded by a shared devotion. Each Leggio sends their finest representatives to congregate the Praethighrian Guard – the champions of the Mother-Church of all Thighs, the Gardeners of the Grand Cathedral and its holy relics. Their panoply is polished pitch black bark, and their buttocks are oiled to a near-mirror shine. These are Cataphractuhrs who failed the trial of earning Her Deathly Visage, but through this failure they demonstrated that their faith in the Bottom is stronger, and they would rather remain devoted than be awarded. They obey only to the Praethighrian Constitution and the Matriarch; not even the Thigh Bishops can order them or escape their judgment inside the sacred silent halls of the Grand Cathedral that have been entrusted to them. And silence will certainly reign in these halls. Upon entering the Great Cathedral, you may not speak, whisper, or even breathe loudly. Your feet will be bare, treading on the thickest, softest carpets. The only sound permitted is the slapping of your thighs against each other as you walk. Here, you may only contemplate, communicating with other through spiritual understanding. Break the silence and you will be punished: you will be bent into a pose before you know it, and your Bottom will be spanked for every disturbance of the hush. The Praethighrians slap so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week (believe me, I know this firsthand), but they hit so quietly as if their hands are feathers in the wind, because even their palms are not worthy of making a sound in these corridors. If you scream – they will continue. They will keep spanking you until you learn to keep silence, or until you pass out from the pain in your butt (believe me, I know this firsthand).

However, there is one place that the Praethighrian Guard watches especially closely – the Forbidden Catacombs.

When the first Angel of Love arrived at the ruins of the Golden City, a group of the faithful pilgrims followed her from afar, captivated by the sway of her rear. She walked through the charred streets, ignoring the followers, as she had for months, but when she reached the lavish staircase leading to the opulent basement, her whispering voice echoed through the ruins, forever deafening anyone who stood too close.

Having awakened from the paralyzing shock, the pilgrims remained at the entrance to the dark basement where the Angel had gone, awaiting hers return. They waited for a year, but when news of the birth of the Second Angel of Love reached them, the hearts of the oldest stopped beating, horrified by the realization that the First Angel had never returned. They wanted to know what had happened, but no pilgrim could follow her, not even the newly arrived. Instincts dictated them not to. Whatever was transpiring within the basement, their own bodies forbade them from descending.

After the young Empire of Hips and Thighs began restoring the Golden City, people discovered the history of this district: it was the estate of one of the Hegemony's largest slave trader, and beneath it she kept and sold her goods. She required so much space that the simple basement grew into deep catacombs, the walls of which were lined with the bones of the suffered.

To create a clear separation between the two worlds, a new entrance was built around the staircase: a single crypt in an empty field in the center of the metropolis. The oldest Praethighrians stand guard at the gate into the Forsaken Catacombs, ever ready to stop the horrors lurking beyond, but unable to bring themselves to enter. And yet, sometimes, they open those gates, because, from time to time, pilgrims come to descend the stairs.

Saints?

Sometimes it is a fellow Cataphractuhr, sometimes a shepherd from the other end of the Empire, sometimes an Ardem, who isn't lustful, but berserk. They come and demand to be let inside. And they are never stopped. You can't stop them, and the power of the commandment of the first Angel of Love does not forbid their bodies from doing so. Most never return; the few who do bring only repugnant news of the Cult of the Worm and the “Tortured”, sealed within the Domain created by the first Angel of Love; but once in a while, on saintly days, these pilgrims bring white splinters, of sacred bones, still radiating the holiness of the Aspect.

The Leggio of the Golden City. Fierce in battle, verve in prayer, and insatiable in bed. The Leggio that begot the Gardeners of Death, they remain to this day exemplars of what people call zeal. And to this day, no other Legion can match the 3rd’s passion for the Thighs. After all, they are citizens of the Golden City, raised there hearing the whispers of the Second Angel of Love almost daily. The thirst for the Bottom, its perfection, and carnal sensations is carved on their souls.

But many members of the 3rd have a notorious reputation: they are so ecstatic by the fact their Holy Labor keeps the sacred Thighs of Meora in pristine purity that they become addicted to the danger and thrill of battle. They can’t get erogenously invigorated anymore without Adrenalin rushing through their veins and a massive heavy blade swinging very close to their necks. They need external fire to kindle the internal one.

The problems might have ended there, but these ladies see many of their fellow believers as weak in their flawed devotion. Even a rookie of this Leggio can look you in the eyes and detect a spark of interest in something other than Hips and Thighs that you don't even know about. And when she finds it, she must eradicate it. They don’t ask permission; they consider it their responsibility – someone has to, and they will do it, using their own methods (although it's difficult to say whether they do it out of pleasure or necessity). Seeing others encounter mortal danger for the first time is as exciting to them as being in danger themselves: “she who loves the Bottom, is not afraid to play with flames”, they say. Even the Parish Watch of the Golden City are scared of them. Although, those who experienced a night with one of the 3rd, cant deny that... something stirs up within them at the thought of being pursued by a “crazy wide-eyed bitch” again… but this something is still mixed with fear (does that mean their methods work?). A word originated on the Tail Continent describes this type of relationship well enough – Yandere. A guilty pleasure, so to speak.

It is not rare for conflicts to arise between the 3rd and other Leggios when its members suddenly arrive for examination on behalf of the Church itself. But no one can argue with those who have proven the righteousness of their actions through spiritual strength and superiority. For some reason, the Church considers their methods exceptional for testing the fidelity of Imperial military personnel. After all, many of them are Ardem, so passionately in love with the Bottom and the Aspect of Love that even a regular female Leggionehr of the 3rd can examine a cohort of six hundred futales with her own Bottom and still not be satisfied with the... “experienced results”, while her... “judgment” remains narrow and tight. Meanwhile, a Cataphractuhr can take on entire regiments of thousands.

The armors of the 3rd are decorated with one of the primary symbols of the Thighology – the Peaches of the Hallow Tree on the Golden Isle. But since this Hallow Tree was begotten, let alone bore its first fruit, only two centuries after the Leggio’s founding, some believe this symbol actually represents moth wings, in memory of the Sparada va Caues, the Sanguine Moth, who slew the last Empress of the Hegemony, thus starting the great rebellion that led to the creation of the Empire of Hips and Thighs, restoring freedom to the True Faith.

At first, the Lappian Foxes was a congregation of Jagers from the southern Thighlands who, hearing the word of Thighology and awakening their inner love for the Bottom, decided that had come the time to serve the Empire and its people, rather than their own glory. They swore to serve the young city on the western edge of the southern Great Thigh Plateau, protecting its province from the rare Envasions that reach southern cliffs of the Thigh Region across the Lap Seas, and later became an elite regiment of the 6th Leggio.

Over the next nine decades, twenty new Leggios were trained and benefited from the knowledge and experience accumulated by these Jagers. Since then, they didn’t stop contributing to the Imperial military prowess: many regular tactics incorporated into the training of other Leggios were first practiced on a smaller scale by the 6th and then refined for Leggio-wide warfare by the others.

Today, however, The 6th is known as the greatest sniper in the entire Meority. Their eyes are all-seeing, and their bullets never miss. There is no terrain they cannot traverse to find their targets. Two-thirds of all sniper records belong to this Leggio, half of which were set by a single Leggionehr, Lappa Sleppa, who held every model of every long-range weapon in her hands and retains the achievement for the longest lethal headshot: six kilometers with a Gauss Rifle.

This is a relatively young Leggio from the province of Garasmor, just five centuries old. For the first couple of centuries, it was an ordinary sedulous Leggio like any other, gallantly defending Her Thighs as it should, but in the Electrification Era it quickly rose to prominence. Garasmor is, after all, the birthplace of the electrical renaissance. When its engineers and scientist uncovered methods for harnessing and storing this energy for quotidian application, some of them begun to wonder if it could also be used in Holy Labor.

From the moment the first Coil Gun successfully exterminated a Jealous Beastiary, the 69th has been arming all of its Leggionehrs with the newest and bestest arsenals the Imperial mind can devise. Almost all of the Leggio’s firearms are the Circuit Weaponry, their stealth suit have been replaced by Volthighic Armor, their marching music is Techno, and their Cataphractuhrs formulated and compiled the Galvanic Doctrine, becoming its masters.

They are the fury of the Empire, incinerating enemies and turning sand into glass. But this doesn’t mean they have abandoned the cunning tactics of the Imperial Leggios. The enemies of Her Light will not even have time to be surprised by the static energies unexpectedly surging around them, after which billions of volts will strike from all directions at once like a mighty storm, reducing the battlefield to piles of ash.

Beetroot Leggio. Literally the First Leggio of the Empire of Hips and Thighs, formed by the first First Empress of Meat, Bootillia Slapis as an elite Imperial army to combat the last remaining forces of the Hegemony. Centuries later, it still serves the province of Azzyeder. And while its influence diminished over the years, the First Leggio still retains its reputation as one of the greatest Leggios even today.

Operating primarily in neighboring provinces and the territories of the allied states of the Tail Continent, it deploys the largest Dino Cavalry force. These flat beetroot-covered plains and neon grasslands are vast, providing Leggio’s mounts with an endless feed and unconfined maneuverability during combat.

The first Leggio’s tactics are remarkably simple. Though technology has evolved, their methods of warfare have not: regiments of skilled mounted archers circling the prey and raining down a hail of arrows has been replaced by regiments of skilled mounted gunners and snipers. Those Leggionehrs or Cataphractuhrs, who lure the Jealous Beastiary, do so without fear of being struck by a stray bullet, because they are confident in the skill of their battle sistren.

Highly prestigious is the First Marksman Regiment. While Cataphractuhrs, of course, need to earn Her Deathly Visage to join, a Leggionehr candidate must pass a test: hitting ninety-nine targets in a row, while standing on her mount, galloping over uneven terrain. Needless to say, even with the complexity of such a test, its is not rare for the Leggio to limit the number of members in the First Marksman Regiment.

Also known as the Carrot Leggio of Okorokiya province.

Located in the densest reaches of the northern carrot jungles, Okorokiya was a small isolated empire that brought misfortune to any invaders who stepped on its territories. This is their jungles, and their carrots, and their gold. Many of the native villages remained untouched by the Pestilential Cellulite, the hordes of which were too impatient to look around. Then came the Hegemony, whose troops were lost in the depths of these coral-tinted jungles or died from carrot diseases and dangerous beasts. Only the Feetic Vagyaru barbarians could match the Okorokiyans in their expertise to survive in such a place... but not in their talent to fight.

This small civilization remained in seclusion for centuries, and only the religion, the True Faith in the Bottom, opened it up to the rest of the world. From birth, the natives know how to live here unconcerned of dangers, as if carrot juice and meat enlighten them with the wisdom of life. But when the Light of the Thighology was brought to Okorokiya, its people understood why they had always felt so spiritually close to these jungles – because these are Her Thighs, Her Holy Bottom. Their ardor was strengthened when they heard the sacred thoughts and words of the True Faith, and now they share with others the duty to protect Her Gorgeousness.

Though slightly barbaric and far behind the times, Okorokiyan fidelity and military experience are in no way inferior. Their people, who accept from the outside world only sanctified books containing Thighological prayers and images of saints’ rears, see the technology as a privilege granted only to the most devoted and skilled hunters: weapons that summon thunder and armor that blends you with the carrots.

Today, the 7th is the only Leggio of the Carrot Jungles and one of the greatest ambushers in the Empire. Although its Cataphractuhrs are very few, its Leggionehrs know every branch and every tree: nothing enters nor leaves the province without their knowledge.

And when its members return from their Holy Labor, they bring with them the stench of rotten carrots that have eaten into their armor after many days or weeks in the field. But this malodor is always welcomed, because the locals know it as the fragrance of victory.

Even today, the 13th is a Leggio that refuses to call any province its home. They gather skilled like-minded individuals from towns stricken by the same scourge to join their forces and pursue a millennia-old mission.

The [REDACTED] may have been cruel and wicked, but they were also clever and intelligent, crafting technology that was incomparable to that time. The Clockwork Legion was their final creation, their last “present” to us. A mechanical army made of copper and glass, fighting for them in the hot plains of the Great Thigh Plateau. An army that can indefinitely construct new soldiers from the toxic sand of the pink deserts. When the Hegemony fell, the Clockwork Legion was issued their final order: “KILL_ALL”. Since then, they have roamed the Thighlands, raiding towns and retreating underground without a trace. But after two millennia they have degenerated, and today they resemble mere a parody of the mighty copper adversary depicted in ancient books – not imposing and gigantic as before, but a chaotic amalgamation of twisted armor fragments and mechanical limbs.

Saraseks was a large metropolis, and a prosperous one at that. Until it was raided by not one, but twenty nine Walking Factories. When the remaining forces of the 13th Leggio arrived home after their Holy Labor, only ruins and corpses remained. The assault was so fierce and one-sided that not a single defeated metal body was found. The remaining Leggionehrs, having lost their provincial capital, with the support of the Empire, set themselves the goal of exterminating the Clockwork Legion. They do this not out of anger or a desire for revenge, but out of love for their neighbors, wanting to make sure that no other sistren suffers like they did.

For a single Leggio, this was an impossible task, but the members of the 13th became the best at tracking the Walking Factories and predicting their attacks, saving many lives from the impending threat, though seldom succeeding in destroying the sources of that threat. Pursuing the machines had always been difficult: the Plateau where they lurk is vast and arid, impossible for ordinary Leggionehrs to survive for long, and even the Cataphracturhs could not always find traces of the Walking Factories when they burrow underground. Nevertheless, with the aid of the Tumish Sky Fleets, and the continued progress achieved during the Electrification Era, it is finally becoming possible to relief the Thigh Region of this ancient menace. In the last century alone, over two dozen Walking Factories have been intercepted and destroyed, which is twice as many as in all previous years since the fall of the Hegemony. This act led to a significant decline in the Clockwork Legion’s raids, and it is likely that in the near future, the [REDACTED] last toy will finally become a piece of history that should never have existed. And when that happens, the 13th will finally find their peace and rejoin the New Saraseks.

Although the actions on the Western Healing Front are not as intense as on the Eastern side, the danger here is far from subtle. Much of the western plaguelands are the formerly safe and verdant meadows that were blighted during the Pestilential Cellulite but left uncleansed after the Hegemony reclaimed the Thigh Region, allowing the Leviathan and its Brood to spread their corruption long enough for the poisoning of Her skin to become profound. Today, the forces of the Western Healing Front still consecrate the land damaged by [REDACTED] indolence, and are no closer to begin healing the real Infernal Malady that lingers deeper within the Crus.

Like the other front, this territory, by international treaty, is a training ground for the Engifted dedicated to the Remedy Forces. The combined military might of the Imperial Leggios and Koleus Armies have exterminated much of the dangerous tarfested fauna within many acres of the border, making training much safer and providing Remedy Engifted with a multitude of locations and mutated plant species to hone their abilities.

The 35th of Margonia are rg champions of the Western Healing Front and the largest Leggio in the Empire, having advanced deeper than any other force operating on this side of the Crus. Their tactics are unconventional: they don't set up silent ambushes, they enter the enemy territory with uproar. The Thighological symphonies and Holy Techno music blast in every direction. These sanctified soundwaves purify the air with melodic vibrations, calling every dark beast and malevolent creature to come and do battle with the noble daughters of Meora, where the Cataphractuhr will turn them into bloody mists with the Tome of Sonic. Neon lights follow them at night, visible from every hill and mountain. The parade stops only to fight, sleep, or pray.

Every time they embark on a new Holy Labor here, the members of the 35th perform a ritual of preservation: every Leggionehr and Cataphractuhr kneels in prayer, thinking of soft and warm Thighs, while a chalice of liquid pink gold is poured onto their helmets. The noble gold, having hardened, will be impregnated with holy thoughts and words, and will protect the Souls of the daughters of Meora from decay should they fall and their bodies are not retrieved. This gold is never cleaned off, and everyone can recognize a veterans by the layers covering their armored heads and shoulders.

Showing off the most powerful weapon in her arsenal.

***

Unlike many other nations, the Imperial Knights of Creation do not have the freedom to choose their Doctrines. They are all part of a machine that must run flawlessly, and deviations are unacceptable. Instead, every Cataphractuhr is assigned an Onora – a specific role within the Leggio during the Holy Labor. Each is crucial to the mutual success of a precalculated victory. These roles require the study and perfection of specific Doctrines, and wasting time learning others is inappropriate when you could instead be refining your skills in what is expected of you.

Equites form the core of the Cataphractuhr forces, and every newly honored Gardener of Death will be assigned to this Onora. Here, they will get familiar with the Leggio’s tactics and practice their skills. Equites fight as squadrons, launching surprise attacks and flanking assaults on enemy groups, moving without stopping until the music of battle dies down. Since this activity does not require absolute immaculacy, their performance is monitored to determine their strengths and weaknesses. Once an Equite’s stamina adapts to the rhythms of Holy Labor and she gains sufficient experience, she might be given a new Onora, or become a Decurion, leading her own Turma of Battle-Sisters.

Exploratores are scouts elevated from the ranks of the Equites. Tasked with patrolling their Leggio’s provinces, Exploratores are chosen from the swiftest, most sharp-sighted, and most cunning sistren. They are highly esteemed and conscientious, for the planning of every attack and Holy Labor undertaken by the Leggio depends on their reports. Unlike other Cataphractuhrs, whose regular Engifted activities can interfere with electronics, Exploratores are supplied with the same advanced surveillance equipment as their Leggionehr counterparts. This equipment memorizes every branch and stone of every lea and forest they pass through, noticing unusual changes that might betray the presence of an enemy, or even detect them at a distance that even the keenest eyes cannot. But unlike their Leggionehr counterparts, the Exploratores embody the ionization of the air in the premise of lightning: they will stand right behind the Heretic, leave knowing all about her, and the traitor will never know until the entire Leggio arrives to burn the place to the ground. Enemies of Her Light will be revealed, counted down to the last vermin, and exterminated without a trace.

Assassines. These are veteran Exploratores and the most vehement Cataphractuhrs in the Leggio. Besides patrol duties, they have full authority to decide to execute Tyirans if any are discovered in the field, thereby weakening the Envasion and making the coming Holy Labor easier for their sisteren. Regardless, it is the Assassines who will be the ones to slay swarm leaders or Colossal-sized creatures during battle. Most of these Cataphractuhrs wear minimal armor, if any, because Assassines channel all their strength into a single pinpoint leap that pierces the battlefield like a needle. It is a strike so fast and powerful that anything they hit will disintegrate and anything they are wearing might splinter upon impact. Although the Knights of Creation can survive a great deal when they concentrate, this technique, even when executed perfectly, may easily exhaust the Assassines’ muscles, for when they land, they must disperse kinetic energies and touch the ground like a feather. Thus some of them only have a single chance to strike and retreat.

While Equites trample lesser creature and Assassines fell giants, Octates are master duelist, assaulting enemies of in-between sizes. They focus on a single vermin, cut it down, and move on to the next, effortlessly exterminating anything that gets in their path.

Vigilanes patrol around the battlefield, exterminating enemies attempting to escape justice. Of course, it would be far preferable if nothing even had a chance to retreat, but in such a perfect world, it would be preferable if the Alleater did not exist either.

Phalanxes. Like in ancient time, one such Engifted accomplishes what an entire formation of the same name could not. They are menacing ball lightnings, sowing chaos among the enemy – chaos which their allies can then manipulate to create new order. Phalanxes slowly move across the battlefield, blinded by their own light and power, radiating deathly voltaic energies around them, incinerating any creatures foolishly brave to come too close, and instilling terror in those intelligent enough to stay away.

Synthines, formerly known as Cornicines, are the Imperial War Musician who coordinate the entire Leggio’s actions on the battlefield and suppress the senses of Jealous Beastiary. It is a highly honorable Onora, entrusted to veteran Decurions who understand that the execution of a meticulously crafted plan and the following victory depends on them. The battle begins with the first note and ends with the last. Be it is Dark Techno or Industrial Bass, the melody must be perfect, down to the beat and volume, for every swing of a weapon, kill, and reload follows the music.

Optiones. Every plan has an order: one leads to two, and two to three, and nothing should disrupt the count. Optiones, as seconds-in-command, remember every battle plan down to the smallest detail and act as its invisible sentinels – miscalculation-correcting agents, darting across the battlefield, manipulating it to fulfill the pre-written victory. Optiones are skilled master-baiters: they guarding the positions of hidden infantry who have not yet engaged, forcing enemies to skirt what they should not find; they protect Leggionehrs’ lines, ensuring nothing reaches them and that their rifles continue to fire; they taunt and lure creatures into plots prepared for their death. These Cataphractuhrs are chosen not only for skills, but also for looks: the Hellish Spawn hates beauty, it enrages them, and they will hunt the hottest and thickest of the Imperial Knights of Creation, even if it means death.

When the battle ends, the aftermath of the holy slaughter must be cleansed, for it is Her body and Her Thighs that are defiled by the carcasses Umbral Horrors. Consacratrines are the Chaplains of the Leggio, who teach its members how to properly worship the Thighs and how to effectively use their Bottoms; but during the Holy Labor, they preside over cleansing and purification rituals. They remain out of the fight for most of the battle, chanting prayers and conserving their vigor, but planning the actions of each Remedy Engifted under their command. For every second lost on performing holy rituals is an unforgivable second that the Allmother’s Gorgeousness is defiled. But the servants of the Consacratrines work with skillful speed and meticulousness, knowing that their scared work will be rewarded not only with the gratitude of Meora, but also with the Leggio’s finest and most addictive asses – the Consacratrines’. It is why the Imperial forces attack swiftly and vanish just as quickly, leaving no trace.

The most noticeable design feature of this magnificent armature is the absence of pelvic protection, which is explained by the fact that no armour-plating can withstand the might of a running Cataphractuhr. Most materials just shatter into pieces within first seconds, and any carefully crafted designs bend unnaturally under the pressure of mighty legs, rendering themselves useless. Some shy ones may wear fashionable panties, but many see no point when there is no textile or style capable of surviving the intense friction between the buttocks of Imperial Knights of Creation.

The protection plates that are present, are enormously valuable simply by their very existence, as they are made of the Black Bark of mature Hallow Trees. A very resilient natural material, it is believed to be that the Black Bark is the result of the excessive purification of the dark elements of the world. Whether it be our sinful thoughts or the Umbral dust in the wind, the sacred leaves of Hallow Trees absorb all that is evil and erase from existence. However, the blackest energies gather in these warts – failed attempts to corrupt the Tree. As such, these warts retain intense concentrations of divine mana remaining after intense purification; by examining the layers of the growth rings, one can judge how much vile energy has been suppressed. It is difficult to refute these claims, after all the Thigh Region is home to most Hallow Trees, and all its people live pious and happy lives, free from the fear of the Taint. This bark is a symbol of the dominance of Meora’s Light, and nothing can better reflect our faith in the Allmother than Her greatest defenders clad a triumphant armor made of such sacrosanct material.

As a result, there is almost no electronics inside the Cataphractuhr Panoply, and even its supportive functions, like the shock absorbers in the legs, are purely mechanical.

The creation of this armor is both a sacramental and laborious challenge, requiring the constant presence of the future owner, for once a piece is attached, it is not going off until replacement is needed. Only the experts can undertake this labor: skilled Woodsmiths in the service of the Keepers of the Hallow Trees. Most of them were Cataphractuhr Initiates who were unable to attain the title of Knights of Creation, but whose zeal and Gift are worthy of being used for noble causes beyond the battlefield. These craftsmen regularly remove the black warts from the white skin of the Hallow Trees to preserve their beauty unblemished. Then, each collected sample is meticulously examined and treated to construct a mighty arsenal for their sistren. It is a lengthy process, not always resulting in success.

The already dried and dead parts will be carved and polished to form outer protective plates. In the early centuries, when this craft just emerged, small branches were never removed for fear of damaging the entire structure of the piece, but only trimmed, giving the Cataphractuhrs their distinguished thorny appearance which they retain to this day. There are three key characteristics of the dead Black Bark that make it valuable to the Imperial Knights of Creation. First, its Gift-related properties: having grown from the bodies of Angels of Grace, it is not affected by the Anomalous Presence of the Engifted, and the material is easily manipulated with the Gift. Second, its high conductivity is useful for the Galvanic Doctrine common among the Cataphractuhrs. And finally, the Black Bark can be easily influenced to produce a controlled electromagnetic field: by amplifying it to its maximum, a Cataphractuhr wearing such armor can use this field to manipulate her own cognitive abilities and nervous system, greatly enhancing her reaction time and muscle activity, allowing her to reach the incredible speeds for which Gardeners of Death are known.

Bark samples that have retained their vitality are the most challenging to handle. They are like the white cells of the Tree, and improper processing and prayer either kills them or turn hostile to the wearer. It is the crucially important to ensure that they stay alive for many years to come. These samples are used for the inner parts of Cataphractuhr Panoply: pliable organic exo-muscle elements to which the outer armor is attached, which then fuse together like clams, completing the armor part.

The small warts, leftovers, or failed pieces, will be melted into resinous wax and sacred oil for Thighological rituals. Applying and rubbing fresh wax into the Cataphractuhr’s body is the first step in creating and donning their panoply. When dry, it acts as a zero-layer suit, and its cells serve as a conduit between all parts of the armor and the wearer. The living Black Bark spreads its little roots through the wax layer, tethering directly to the wearer’s skin with its tiny suckers and communicating with other parts. Damaged wax on the unprotected Bottom cannot simply regenerate once its dried, but the layer can be restored by applying fresh wax. The living bark will activate new cells and distributes them evenly across the body. This is why dark rings can be seen on the inner thighs of some Cataphractuhr – these are places were the wax layer was previously abraded during running, or torn away for other needs.

A complete Cataphractuhr Panoply envelops its owner like a second skin, responding to muscular activity with equal speed and feeding off her sweat and Gift in return. But even when perfectly crafted, the wearer should remain gentle: never overfeed the living Black Bark and avoid its dehydration. As previously mentioned, the armor stays on, and besides only a few removable parts, like a breastplate, greaves, or faceguard, the Gardeners of Death live in their panoplies for the majority of their lives. And when they die, they are buried in their armor beneath the Hallow Trees, strengthening the white giants with the righteous Souls of the warriors of Her Light. But after nine hundred and ninety-nine daily prayers, their pelvic bones are excavate for subsequent preservation in the Thigh Chapels as relics of the saints.

Tactical Sickles: issued in pairs to every Leggionehr and designed for a variety of encounters a one might confront, both routine or unexpected. They are equally efficient at cutting through dense vegetation and flesh, as they are at sawing through wood and bone. A robust locking mechanism converts the sickles into climbing hooks, capable of securing the weight of a fully equipped Leggionehr.

Additionally, a standard part of the military inventory are Pugio Saws. One copy is always crafted from precious metals and serves as a symbol of military identity; no honest citizen of the Empire would counterfeit them. The other are expendable and are usually made of copper, frequently used by Engifted Leggionehrs as a medium for Eruption-type miracles of the Galvanic Doctrine. Though, some Cataphractuhr carry these Pugios for the same utility – to eliminate targets not worth wasting time and energy on.

Like their Armor, Cataphractuhr arsenal is crafted from the Black Bark of Hallow Trees. These are Mastercrafted blades, polished and honed. Blessed by the supernatural properties of the source material, an Engifted wielder can effortlessly control the sturdiness and cutting potential of these weapons, severing the molecular bonds of dark beings’ flesh with a mere touch. High-quality work don’t even require a Cataphractuhr to hold the weapon, its Black Bark will be firmly held by the armor's magnetic field. The three holy weapon shapes wielded by the Cataphractuhrs are the Contus spear, the Corseque axe, and the Stabbius sword. But there are also several other unique and remarkable hallow weapons: the Love Scythes of the Third Leggio, the Thunder Claws of the Western Healing Front, and, of course, the Golden Croziers of the Praethighrian Guard of the Golden City (which are the evolved Love Scythes).

Thanks to the aplenty of Hallow Trees, the Empire has significantly developed its Woodsmithing craft. Thus, other nations, including the Great ones, regularly commission such sacred weapons for their own Knights of Creations as honorary rewards. Their leaders are willing to pay hefty for such masterpieces, with capital or with ass, it matter not when they want to prove their gratitude to their heroes.

The Knights of Creation of the Empire of Hips and Thighs are living symbols of the True Faith clad in hallowed armor. Expunging the Nightmares of Envy like a righteous storm, their Bottoms are a paragon of perfection and their conviction knows no hesitation. Each one of them is a saint in life, and in death, their pelvic bones will be preserved as saint’s in their provincial Thigh chapels.

When the Cataphractuhr is ready to embark on a new Holy Labor, every Leggionehr and Imperial citizen shall demonstrate their passion as fellow worshipers of the Bottom, bestowing spiritual uplift and strengthening her determination: mightly slapping her butt, hugging and kissing her thighs, motorboating between her cheeks. Through these sacred rituals, they share their devotion with the Cataphractuhr, empowering her resolve with pious exuberance. And when she returns victorious, she will be awarded with the Bottoms of others – a just reward for a righteous warrior of Her Light. And there is no greater pride for a believer when one of the symbols of the True Faith notices the pulchritude of your hips among the crowd of thousands and wants to personally delight them.

Just as it is for the Leggionehrs, to be a Cataphractuhr is a choice of faith. No one compels you to be something you cannot be. Some vehement Engifted use their powers to plow fields and reap harvests as if they were hundreds of laborers; others summon rains on the scorching summer days; thirds channel the Gift to power thousands of factories and homes; and then there are those who cannot stand aside when their fellow Thighlanders shed blood to protect others.

Any person, of any age, can become a Cataphractuhr Initiate. All that is required is to be a devout, who deifies Her Bottom, and to be the Engifted of any Grade starting with the Blaze. The Church will undoubtedly commend such selfless zeal, and, as its responsibility, will assist in achieving the physique, discipline, and Engifted might worthy of the title of Gardener of Death.

The Initiates will undergo the most grueling and arduous training known to all Knights of Creation, and only the cultivation of the three virtues of the True Faith – Devotion, Honesty, and Diligence – will reveal whether the Initiates are truly worthy of joining the ranks of the Cataphractuhrs, and those who are unfit will weed themselves out.

They will need Devotion. For the next six years, they will have to endure physical and mental pain. Six years that may seem like six decades; their bodies will ache, and their thoughts will ring incessantly every day. In these moments, only inexhaustible Devotion and love for the Hips and Thighs will keep them moving forward and abandon thoughts of surrendering, because doubts will undoubtedly grow within them: “Can I continue?”, “Should I go on like this?”, "Have I been deceived and in the wrong place?".

They will need Diligence. For the Church never interferes or expels the Initiates; the swaying doubts and the fragility of the body will do this. It is necessary to endure natural suffering and prevail over own weaknesses, which will absolutely prove to everyone the strength of one’s willpower and dedication to the goal of becoming the Gardener of Death – that is what it means to be an exemplar of Diligence.

And finally, they will need Honesty. Because, eventually, the Initiate will demand an Honest answer from herself, and she should answer genuinely, not to the Empire and its people, not to Meora, but to herself: “Am I strong and committed to be the warrior of Her Light, or due my sinful avarice, I am ashamed and afraid to accept that I am not worthy of becoming one?”. To be a Cataphractuhr is to represent the True Faith, and to be weak is to stain the Thighology with future failures and disgrace. She who Honestly loves the Bottom must ask herself whether she is ready to take responsibility of being its symbol and protector, or whether her presence will only weaken it.

Ultimately, even if they are fewer in number, through this training the Cataphractuhrs become the most powerful Knights of Creation, and others can hardly match their mastery of the Gift and purity of mind.

At the end, all Initiates will face a final set of trials. They must show the expected results, or surpass them; but staying on this path for the full six years is a result in itself. These trials include: crushing a granite ball between the thighs, sprinting a kilometer in under nine seconds, generating a billion-volt bolt of lightning, striking a target two hundred nineteen times or more in one minute with a spear or sword, and much more.

Upon earning her sacred title, the Cataphractuhr’s lower abdomen will be painted with the Thighological sigil of Peach, as proof of becoming a Gardener of Death. And as her list of deeds and rank grows, new details will be added to the sigil to commemorate one’s indefatigable labor and accomplishments.

The most severe trial awaits those ready to earn Her Deathly Visage – a challenge of their fidelity. A Cataphractuhr must sit for nine days in the Horny Attics, demonstrating which is stronger: her duty as a Knight of Creation or her love for the Bottom. During this time, she should never become aroused by the goings-on around her, nor ever desire to glance at the Bottoms of others. Visitors are encouraged to provoke the challenger, but never force a reaction directly or physically. Many Cataphractuhr who fail, do so in the final minutes, as thoughts race through their heads and they begin to fear that by completing the challenge and earning Her Deathly Visage, they will reveal to other devotees that their love for the Thighs was not as strong as people believed. And so they intentionally fail, refusing the highest honors of the Knight of Creation... realizing only hours later that it was yet another test for a doubtful mind. Whatever they feel at that moment, they must acknowledge own weakness and failure, understanding that doubts are impure emotions that have no place behind the golden mask of our Allmother’s face. But even knowing this detail, the challengers still hesitant, not believing the veracity of these words, and fail.

***

Historically, Cataphractuhrs were a type of heavy armored Engifted cavalry that originated to combat the Pestilential Cellulite. Primarily, during their charge attacks, they channeled the Gift to shield their mounts from the harmful effects of the Umbral Blood and other elements, enabling the entire force to cleave its way through swarms of enemies. The mightier was the Engifted, the greater was the mount given to her, ranging up to the battle elephants.

A series of events eventually led to the reformation of the Imperial Cataphractuhrs. First, with the founding of the Herquisition, the Engifted libraries began to fill with foreign knowledge and new discoveries about the Gift. Second, personal firearms were rapidly evolving and improving. And finally, as one of the Three Great Nations of that time, the Empire needed its own symbols of victory – its own Knights of Creation.

Those Enigfted who were vehement and powerful were retrained and became the Cataphractuhrs we know today, even receiving their own system of rank. They have abandoned the need for mounts, for their own bodies are mightier and more precise than the fastest steeds. And when they run, you can hear the clap of thunder that erupts from their muscular cheeks clashing against each other. For they have become lightning itself, striking unexpectedly and piercing the battlefield with impossible speed.

Of all the daughters of Meora, in body and spirit, Cataphractuhrs are the closest to perfection, but like all, even they are in awe of the Perfection that is the Allmother’s Bottom. Through righteous battles, they prove that their virtuous Souls are worthy of becoming one with it after death, making it grow even more thicker with the goodness and reverence they accumulated in life.

The cavalry of the lower-grade Engifted lost its association with the Cataphractuhrs; the need for such troops to charge the enemy has disappeared, as the Cataphractuhrs of the new era have proven more potent for the task, and the use of firearms has become a far more effective approach for everyone else. However, some Leggios still employ units of mounted and motorized lower-grade Engifted to act as decoys, guiding the enemy's attention around the battlefield: pretending to be weak and easy to reach, yet always elusive. These Leggionehrs have been renamed Velites.

There was a time when the Empire sat on the blade of a sword that dug deeper into its flesh with each passing year, but with the advent of the Electrification Era, the hand of peace removed the dark blade and firmly gripped at the Thigh Region. Now, even when the Serpent’s spawn breeds ever faster and greater Envasions, we effortlessly dominate these Horrors with the weapons of fire and thunder, retaking the holy Gorgeousness of our Allmother and relieving other sistren from the need to take up arms.

Today, most of the Thighland and its inhabitants are relatively safe, far from the mortal dangers posed by the Alleater and the actions of its creations. Envasions born on the Rusted Archipelago rarely swim to the northern shores of the Empire, preferring to march through the Tail Continent, as much of its Archipelago has already succumbed to the defilement, and only a few remaining Free Tail Nations refuse to accept defeated so easily. The Infernal Miscreations of the Crus are no threat to the Western Healing Front, and with the aid of the Koleus, the Malady is gradually being pushed back. Envasions originating on the Ashened Archipelago likewise target the closest victims, either Kozara or Koleus, while those Umbral shoals that pass Ratanel and Taranel will encounter only the towering cliffs of the Great Thigh Plateau, forcing them to detour through passes and beaches advantageous to the Empire's defenders. The ancient Clockwork Legions and their walking factories will soon be destroyed. Nor the Envious and their cults can thrive in a nation whose citizens’ hearts are already filled with virtuous thoughts and dreams; only the Cult of the Worm, still sealed within the Forbidden Catacombs of the Golden City, clings to its pathetic existence like a virus.

Because of this tranquility, the Empire of Hips and Thighs no longer demands its citizens to fight the creations of the Serpent, providing them a chance to never be tainted by images of war and Umbral Horrors… or worse. Instead, Thighlanders are encouraged to work industriously to graciously provide their neighbors, not with the number of monstrosities slain, but in material resources and labor, as well as spiritual faith and scientific knowledge. These foreign soldiers are thankful to the Empire, for they never fear hunger, knowing that after every battle they will be treated to such magnificent feasts that their thighs will grow thicker, and each sumptuous dish, prepared from ingredients grown on the fertile hips of Allmother, brings them closer to understanding why the Bottom of Meora is divine.

Only those who feel guilty about hiding behind others' bottoms while they shed their blood, or those who wish to righteously defend Her Gorgeousness in real battles, can enlist and join the ranks of the Imperial Leggionehrs – defenders of the Empire of Hips and Thighs, who know that behind their rears lies a world worthy of protecting and returning to, and whose backsides are looked upon with awe.

They are few in number, but even these few are enough to protect the Allmother’s massive Bottom: a small army of a hundred Leggios, comprising only a couple dozens of millions active-duty volunteers. Perfectly organized, dedicated, disciplined. Led by astute legates, with the grace of the Empress of Meat and the Thigh Council, these people are entrusted with preserving the purity and beauty of their provinces, exterminating the enemies both within and without. They fear no failure, because the Faith can correct everything. They fear no doom because their resolve is bottomless. They fear no death because they know that there will always be other faithful, who are ready to take their place and as ready to die for the Thigh.

***

What is beyond comprehension to other nation is the unique ancient manners of warfare the Thighlanders employ, with guerrilla tactics that not many dare to emulate and a success rate that surely no one can match. It is, of course, out of options to confront the Nightmares of Envy in fair fight. They have no concepts of Honor. It is in their dark blood to never be Honorable, and they deserve no fair fight in return. But the Thighlanders take this more critically. When other nations prefer to simply overpower this enemy, like a giant hand slapping a mosquito, the Empire is a spider who has already calculated the ensnaring of every arrogant insect that will pass through its web: hit-and-run strikes, mobile ambushes, surprise sniper barrages, mounted and motorized rear assaults. Complex, dangerous, and lengthy operations are flawlessly executed by a minimal number of soldiers with absolute precision and timing for every single kill.

The Imperial Leggios strike like lightning on a clear day – unexpected, so fast and so hard that no one will be left alive to hear the following thunder: “If the foe fears, then you have failed; the enemy must die before he fears you, for the enemy who fears you knows about you and will fight even harder”.

The Leggionehrs wholeheartedly love the Bottom, and Meora rewards their faith threefold. No other explanation can justify their success in waging war using methods that have failed for other nations. It cannot simply be superior skills alone. You can’t sneak up on the Nightmares of Envy, for they can sense every grain of dark desires in your Soul, but the devotees of the Bottom have none of that, not even the fear of failure. They simply live and love the Thighs. They fight knowing that the Allmother Herself will aid them, commanding nature itself along their path. Their mounts never stumble and are difficult to catch. Their aim is always steady and on target. And the failure is never thought of. This is the power of the true Faith.