The Box (Part XI)

Oramiir walked through the eye of the storm, his robes rippling gently with each carefully placed step.  He walked in large strides, with his right hand horizontally clenched before him.  From afar, it might appear as if he were looking down the back of his forearm, lining up his path over his knuckles, but what one wouldn’t notice from any distance greater than five feet were the small crimson lines that ran out of either side of his fist.

Small drops of blood fell from his hand, but never reached the stone ground below. The sorcerer’s eyes glared over the back of his knuckles, deep in concentration as he focused on the magical dweomer from a ring on his middle finger.  As each crimson drop fell from his hand, he called forth the powerful magic to send the sticky substance far ahead of him, where its scent would drive the creatures into a maddened fervor, snarling with an insatiable lust for the blood that now seemed to be all around them.

The flow began to thicken and he sighed as the ring’s power finally exhausted.  For a few moments longer, he watched with a bemused expression as he hand shook wildly, before slowly lowering it to his side.  The dark arts of the blood magic were taking its toll on his body much sooner than he expected.  Even as he pondered this, the hourglass dipped before him, falling ever so slightly from where it had been hovering.

With a predatory grin, he watched a the last few sands fell from into the bottom of the container.  Quickly, he lifted his hand once more, opening it to catch the enchanted item as its magic also exhausted, causing it to fall to the ground.  Thankfully, his reflexes didn’t betray him and he caught it with ease.

In the same instant that the item’s power was no more, there came a low rumble of thunder as every item’s sound rushed back to their source.  The sounds moved so quickly that for a split second he felt as if it were that fateful moment before the heavens opened and the flood-rains came.

Though he knew he was alone, he was still momentarily startled when he found himself surrounded by the sounds of frenzied battle.  Elladuer’s battle cries dominated the sounds of the Destrachan, which were horrifying enough on their own, but he thought he could also hear the weak cries of the hobbit as well.

His lips curled even higher, lifting his cheeks and turning his features into a visage so terrible that to look upon it would send any lesser creatures fleeing at its sight.  As the battle began to wane, decidedly in the favor of the Destrachan, he threw his head back and cackled insanely.

From its hidden perch nearby, a large bat opened its eyes and watched distrustfully as the man passed beneath it.  It’s first instinct was to attack the creature that dared disturb its slumber, but the evil which radiated from him sent it fluttering down the tunnels in the opposite direction to seek a safer place to rest.

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