By: Adam Janus
Creed saw the frost elf enter the chamber in a crouch closely followed by the bloody dwarf bellowing and swinging his axe on its wrist thong. They moved with practiced precision obviously familiar with each other’s moves and infiltration tactics. Hovering near the high domed ceiling in the form of a black mist which mingled with the shadows and candle smoke, the wizard almost finished his spell too early. The druidess held back. “How many heartbeats does she hesitate?” thought Creed, “two, three, five.” Of course he couldn’t count his own heartbeat; the black lump within his own chest had not stirred for many centuries. But he could hear the pulses from his guests, felt the blood pumping through their veins deliciously laced with adrenaline and salty fear.
“Destroy the alter!” The druidess shouted upon entering pointing to her right at Creed’s alter of skulls dedicated to his goddess, Hisseesha.
“Ahh,” mused Creed, “the hesitation was diversionary giving her time to divine the location of my power.” He continued to observe as the frost elf hurled his dagger at the altar only to have it bounce off the protective wards causing them to flash angrily like wood thrown on the hot coals of a fire. The female elf advanced on the altar; her sword held high the magical enchantments of light emanating from the blade would surely cleave right through the dark magic weaved around the skulls.
Without further hesitation Creed finished his earlier spell and watched as the stone beneath the intruders’ feet began to swim like liquid granite. The heavy footed dwarf instantly sunk to his knees in the thick mud like substance while the lighter footed elves briefly danced upon the surface before sinking to the ankles in the quickly solidifying slop. Tendrils of liquid stone snaked its way up their bodies entwining them like the constricting coils of a python before returning to its former rock hardness effectively rendering the trio immobile.
Returning to his earthly form as he floated to the floor, Creed bemusedly scolded his captives pointing one long nailed still transparent misty finger at the dwarf to silence the steady stream of curses and incoherent growls. “Did you think you would be able to just waltz in here and slay me?” asked the wizard. Magical energies rippled around him; the mist swirling into human form. He then angrily turned in the druidess’ direction. “Fellagchwendu,” he spat summoning a foul hot wind reeking of death and sulphur that blew the druidess’ long blond hair wildly about her head and interrupted the enchantment she had been mouthing. When the wind subsided, she attempted the spell again only to have her thoughts and her words come out as mixed up, unintelligible gibberish.
“Save your breath pretty one,” Creed purred as he approached Kimba’s entrapped form. The wizard appeared to float across the floor. He stroked the druidess’ face with the back of his right hand smiling at the involuntary shudder of revulsion his touch elicited. “Your slow moving, simple druidic spells will do you and your companions no good my dear.”
Creed then turned his attention to the bristling dwarf; the muscles in his huge arms straining in their bonds sweat poured from his body mingling with the blood from his many wounds. His axe had fallen from his numb hand and dangled from its wrist thong while his mouth formed silent curses. As the wizard approached he was buffeted by his captive’s almost overwhelming life force laced with hatred. But Creed sensed something else; something not common amongst dwarves, magic! But it was not just the natural magic that wove its way through the earth’s fabric and intertwined with the life forces of all living things but dark magic, necromantic magic. Of course the brute wouldn’t know how to use it, but Creed sensed with his mage sight that the axe toting lout had the ability.
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