From Maub the Dreamer. HAVE NO FEAR The very darkest of magic needs blood to work its will. Sometimes it takes but a drop and a whisper, but in this chamber, on this storm-ridden night when the wind whips about the land in a frenzied attempt to pull it all down and the clouds leak like sponges to throw down buckets of heavy rain a black deed was in its throes. Thunder bashed from up above, lightening gave way to the sharp images of a rocky landscape and amidst the sound of such fury a chamber deep within the bowels of Abysmal held the droning noise of a Snakehead incantation. The length of steel picked up the flicker of dancing flames as it was lifted high in the air. A masked Snakehead smiled seductively at his victim, a man tied cruelly to a length of wood, a Westman caught by their savage ally, Bloodworm. The lizard man wore a mask of bone and wood, fashioned from blessed pieces of the sacred tree and the finger bones from many other sacrifices. The Grand Martyr was a slight creature but that didn’t matter for the kind of work he had to perform tonight, the skinning of a man bound and helpless didn’t require brawn only skill and he had plenty of that. This sacrifice would live through the better part of his martyrdom and as the basin filled with blood so would the man’s life ebb to help entice the dark magic into existence. Screams and a little struggle was always the way at first, but with a wooden ball in his mouth and a tight cloth to shut the noise only the raging storm and the droning chant of the priests could be heard as he continued his work. No one spoke except for the deep booming sounds of a nothing song, it was virtually toneless but there was a certain peace he felt as the conclave intoned the magic words. The Westman looking as though he had been turned inside out hung like a body of meat waiting to be salted and cured, wrung out and in the basin below his dangling feet was a dark steaming collection of blood. More than enough for this incantation, it was done and Laso let out a long breath. He turned to a young Snakehead and nodded his head, then stepped back to join in the chanting. The youngster bent his back into shifting the basin to the centre of the room, careful not to spill a drop. To do so would mean more than a lashing, it may even disrupt the power of the spell and the young acolyte lived in fear of this happening. A mist formed over the cooling blood, a sour smell that stank of mold and unwashed bodies accompanied it as the thin cloud settled. It was pungent and the young Snakehead held his breath so as not to choke. With the basin in place be began to light the thick tallowed candles made from bear fat, he lit the sweet smelling incense and set a large copper vessel on the dirt floor. With reverence of the very new, he backed away into the deeper shadows, happy in the knowledge that he had performed his duties to the letter.
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 12:42:48 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015