Daramlhoardd’s War

It was a scene of gruesomeness, a scene of ugliness that Daramlhoardd gazed down upon. The five wizards of the mystic circle were busy painting symbols on the white marble floor. A crescent moon, stars and figures of lizards were drawn in fresh pig’s blood. The odour of death drifting up to him delighted the elf lord.
To the left of the mages, a young, naked girl struggled to free herself from cruel bonds on her wrists.  The coldness from the red stone alter where she lay and from the air had covered her slender, beautiful body with large goose bumps.
The group of wizards stood up. There was one last symbol required before the mystic, ancient ritual could begin. To make this symbol as strong as it had to be, the blood of a virgin was required.
Aferton, the head of the circle of five, removed a sharp curved blade from a gem studded scabbard. No words were spoken in this hall of death. No words were needed. Many times had these dark lords of magic performed this ritual for their lord and master.


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