The soldiers watched quietly as Weaver mages entered the room. A high ranking soldier looked over to Amen’Dell as the Weavers began the ritual. He didn’t like dealing with theories and suppositions that came with wild cards. He wanted hard evidence. “As you have stated, elf,” he said with words tipped in acid. “This will bring about a weapon which we can use. Something which we can set upon our enemies.” It was more a statement than a question. Repeating what had already been told to them.
Amen’Dell sighed and looked to the man. “Yes, as I did state before. You must learn patience, Marsden. It is a virtue that I hold quite dear.”
“As you’ve stated before, you have a thousand years with which your kind can wait,” Marsden pointed out. “We… humans, as you have often reminded us, do not have this luxury.”
Amen’Dell merely lifted his hand to quiet Marsden. The ceremony was about to begin. Weaver mages began chanting as the runic obelisk began to glow eerily. Heritage Front soldiers held their weapons tightly in the event that things went wrong. The air became crisp and warm. The scent that comes with acid filled the room. Small orbs of light began to dance around the room. Torches extinguished as a rush of air went through the room. A large cracking sound filled the room, and the soldiers braced themselves for the worst. The obelisk seemed to shatter, but the pieces suddenly stopped in mid air, as the glowing orbs rushed to the place where it stood. A scream of anger suddenly filled the room. The pieces of the obelisk slammed back together with great violence, and the sound became deafening.
And as soon as it began, it was over.
The obelisk was whole again. And there was someone chained to it. An elven female, dressed in rags, hung by a set of manacles. The Weavers held shocked looks on their faces, as Marsden sighed heavily. “I didn’t need a slave girl,” he muttered to Amen’Dell.
“Just watch,” the elven wizard said quietly, a knowing smile on his lips.
One of the Weavers stepped forward inspecting the woman. In his hand he held a key, given to him by Amen’Dell. The elven wizard knew all too well what this ritual would summon, and had made preparations. The Weaver unlocked the woman’s manacles and lifted her off of the obelisk. His only mistake, but a fatal one. The woman’s eyes lit up as she felt the man’s touch, and she opened her mouth in a blood curdling scream. Her true nature revealed, an elven vampire. She drew upon strength held in reserve and began to feed off the man. Once complete, she tossed his carcass to the side and looked around.
“More…” she hissed as she moved with lightning reflexes, catching another Weaver. “MORE!” The Weavers panicked and tried to run, only finding themselves cut down quickly. The slaughter took only minutes as the elven vampire laughed with glee, her power back where it belonged. She finished the last Weaver and looked toward her new targets. The soldiers of the Front. But something stopped her from attacking. She saw Amen’Dell and smiled. “You kept your end of the bargain, sweetie,” she said with a twisted grin as blood dripped down from her hungry fangs. “And so, I will spare your life.”
“And, you will spare these men as well,” he motioned to soldiers. “These are new friends I have made. They can give us so much power.” He smiled as he studied the vampire’s reaction.
Yar’ow grinned and laughed maniacally as she heard his words, clapping her hands with excitement. “Power, power power! It shall be mine!” she seemed to sing. “An army to help me. For I feel such a grand slaughter is comin’ ta this world. So many victims, so lil time. Where shall we b’gin, love?”
Amen’Dell chuckled lightly with her enthusiastic display. Yes, the Front now had their weapon. And soon, he would have his own.
And the high guild of the Elven Councils would not know what hit them.
Turn the Page 