The Box (XIII)

The sword was cold and unfamiliar in his hands, but it was a necessary inconvenience.  While he possessed many powerful magics for the coming battle, he still needed something that would open the creature for them to be more effective.

“I suppose I could have allowed them to live,” he muttered thoughtfully to himself.

Despite his words, he knew that he had made the right choice. They would have been useful against the Great Flame, their unique skills would have given him a greater chance for survival, but the overall risk of the box falling into their hands was too great.

He would rather face the venerable wyrm when it was at the height of its power than to allow for that to happen.

As he continued to close the distance between himself and the lair, he silently appraised the condition of the longsword.  The light blue substance Elladuer’d applied to the metal held.  Though he hadn’t heard what the elf had claimed it was, it appeared to have temporarily enchanted the metal for one purpose.

“To slay the dragon,” he breathed.

The words echoed softly from the stone, disturbing the silent denizens of the underdark, big and small alike.  Some acknowledged it with nary a glance, while others fled deeper into the nether.

“O’salum Na’eldraeya, Y’salonna Drak.”

As he incanted the words of the spell, he lightly drew the blade across the palm of his right hand.  It bit into his flesh, parting it with its temped edge and drank of his blood.  Not a single drop was spilled.  The blade absorbed it greedily, prompted by the power he gave unto it.

“Fly, Dragonbane, I command you,” he shrieked.  “Protect me from the abomination that is Malifgorranaka!”

At the pinnacle of his spell, he released the blade into the air where it hovered just as the hourglass had earlier.  Only, rather than keeping time, this object’s purpose was much more deadly.

His knees wobbled beneath him and for the next few seconds, he fought to regain his strength.  The magic was taking its toll on his body, years from his life and it threatened to consume him with every spell he cast.  It was a price he was willing to pay, for once he had the box, these worries would be no more.

Safely hidden in the shadows behind him, a single red eye narrowed.

The Box (Part XII)

From his perch, high above the intersection, Joeshan watched as the creatures feasted upon their kill.  His stomach lurched threateningly at the sight of his friend being devoured, but there was little else he could do at this point.  His body ached from his own recent attack and he had lost a lot of blood from his injuries as well.  If it wasn’t for the dark magic of the sorcerer, he most likely would have suffered this very same fate.

The Destrachan had continued to close in on him, breathing upon him its foul stench as it approached.  He had been paralyzed by its attack, a sonic blast so strong that it had stolen the air from his lungs and pinned him to the ground.  Slobber dripped off of its bottom lip, splashing first on his neck and then on his cheek as it drew ever closer to his face.

With a start, he realized that he could hear the voice of the sorcerer as he worked his magic from somewhere in the darkness around him, but to his dismay it was only echoes that he heard.

A long, snake-like tongue slithered past the creature’s teeth and over his face, smearing the drool over his cheek as it passed. 

He wanted to scream, cry, anything, but there were no reserves in his lungs with which to do so.  He trembled as the creature’s tongue suddenly forced its way past the eyelids of his right eye socket and wrapped itself tightly around the orb within.  He couldn’t scream, but his body reacted with motion for what his lungs could not do in sound.  

He’d lost all vision in the eye that the creature had imprisoned. Small lines of fire burned through his head as the creature first tugged, and then yanked on its small prize.  At the moment that he’d felt something give, his lungs suddenly expanded, sucking in the much needed oxygen that had been missing for too long.

As soon as it had returned, he expelled it with an anguished wail.  Blood filled the now empty socket and ran down the side of his face, while his one remaining eye watched the creature suck in the connective tissues as if it were a string of boiled pasta.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, white hot, and crippling him as surely as the effects of creature’s initial attack. The Destrachan was toying with him.  Through his one remaining eye, he watched as it sucked on the other between its lips while pointing the pupil back at him.  

It was at the moment that it crushed the eye between its teeth that the creature’s attention had been drawn to Elladuer’s Last Stand, though he hadn’t known that’s what it was at the time. He was just thankful that he was safe, if even for a moment.

Now, as he watched the scene unfolding below, he understood why the creature had suddenly abandoned him its next meal. There wasn’t much left of his elfin companion.  The armor had been blasted to shreds by their sonic attacks and was scattered about the clearing.  Four of the Destrachan surrounded the elf’s remains, where they occasionally foraged from what little meat was left on his bloody bones.

They were well fed.  It was very likely that they didn’t eat this much in one sitting and their midsections were swollen to the point of bursting.  They rested close together, not so much as for warmth, but as if it were from habit.  Unlike any predatory creatures he had ever seen on the surface, these willingly shared their kill, that the next may have enough in its belly.

He began to cry, clear salty tears from his good eye and bitter blood-filled ones from his empty socket.  The pain had since faded to a dull throb, one which would be a constant reminder of what he had lost, but he would never forget the the next thing he saw.

Far below, where the creatures lazed near their feast, Oramiir strode across the clearing.  He paused only to take the elf’s weapon and entered the tunnel branching off to the left, from whence the breath of the dragon still emanated.

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.