Daramlhoardd’s War

Crawled, lifted the girl to a sitting position. Tramith held a wide mouthed, golden pitcher in his hands.
With one swift certain movement Aferton sliced her throat from ear to ear. The unnamed girl struggled for a moment as her life escaped into the vessel.
A strong desire overwhelmed Daramlhoardd. He lusted to drink the sweet ambrosia pouring out of the innocent virgin’s throat. He sighed and let his urges, his desire, his unquenched lust fade. All of this precious blood was needed.
Crawled, ugly, old, with warty chin and face, held the girl until the last drop of blood fell into the pitcher.
Swift, sure brush strokes were used to draw the pentagram, the large circle and the five pointed star.
Five evil wizards, five unholy mages stood upon the points of the star and looked inward. They joined hands and chanted in unison. “Traldith, boriam, elamore,” five times were this words of power repeated.
Shadows of fear, shapes of darkness formed within the large circle. These unknown, unnamed things whirled around and round in their invisible cage. They threw themselves against the unseen barriers, shrieking and howling when they could not escape.
Aferton mumble in an ancient, dead language. When the dark things did not pause in their whirlwind, he raised his voice. No response. Aferton shouted. Sinister shadows slowed, became still.
More unintelligible words came from the magician’s lips. Mumbles, hollers and squeaks came from within the circle. Once more the five chanted words of authority, “Anasor, marboth, klayed.” A bright flash of light was followed a boom of thunder. Stained glass windows shattered. Cold, rain and darkness poured in. Candle flames fluttered and all but one was extinguished by the wind.
Sweat soaked and on shaking legs, Daramlhoardd clutched the railing with both hands as he made his way down stairs.
“What did the shades of death have to say?” He asked his mages waiting on the bottom of the stairs.


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