Run From South Park

In the blackness of the unlit mansion, Agar’ksh paced backwards and forwards. Frustration twisted her perfect but malevolent features.  As her delicate frame glided over the dusty floor it belied her inhuman strength and savagery.  The slow build up of magical energy that was required for this spell was tortuously slow and she was not one for waiting.

 “Can this not be done faster?”  Her impatience spilled over making her forget who she was speaking to. 

 Gûldúath barely glanced in her direction.  His concentration was held by the swirling column of fire that twisted up from the wooden table in front of him.  The vile, clouded flames glowed dark green in colour flecked with blood red sparks that flickered up towards the ceiling.

 “The Old Magic is taking its time to awaken again, but maybe spilling some of your blood will speed it up.”  Turning his head slowly towards her she saw the threat in his black, souless eyes.  Many times she had seen members of the Har’oloth displease him, only to be shredded by just a click of the sorcerer’s ancient fingers.

 He had worked for days now, piling spell upon spell.  On and on he had chanted as he drew down the powers of his ancestors.  The power he was summoning was immense.  A lesser sorcerer would have been killed in the attempt.  Unable to contain the evil that was being called forward they would have been consumed by it. The black force now filled the mansion with its poison, like a crushing weight it built, shaking the medieval house to breaking point.  

As a low howl of a thousand dead voices sounded throughout the house, her scarlet eyes flashed towards the house’s owners who were bound and thrown into a corner of the room.  Blackness curled around them as the spell called for sacrifice.  She could see their terrified eyes widen first with fear then with pain.  Thier screams were muffled by the gags in their mouths as their bodies scorched, withered and then dissolved.

 A cracking noise, feint at first, drew her attention back to the column of fire.  As they watched the tiniest cracks started to appear in the small stone that supported the putrid flames.

 “Get your forces ready.  It is time”  The sorcerer spat at her his eyes never leaving the table. 

 His mouth began to move, repeating the castings of vile twisted magic.  So foul were the words that as he spoke them the very air turned to a blackened fog that poured from his mouth.

 The stone beneath the column was a perfect replica of the Wizard Stone that protected South Park.

 * * *

 Blaise shook her awake, hard.  Shaking her sleep fuzzy head she dragged her senses back together.  She could see it was still pitch black outside, glancing at her watch she was shocked it was only three in the morning.

 “What? What’s happening?”  As her eyes started to focus she could see he was already dressed and clearly worried.  His sword was strapped to his back and cape clasped at his throat.

 “We have to leave, now!”  He pulled her up and out of bed then shot to the dresser and pulled out clothes for her.

 “Why? What do you mean leave? What about the change?”  She stumbled into her clothes, a tonne of questions spiralling through her mind but she knew he would not do this without good reason so she wasted no time following his instructions.

 His hands raked through his hair making it sparkle in the lamplight.  “Garraran has been injured.  The Black Sorcerer has tried to destroy the Wizards Stone, hurry, we don’t have long.”  She could clearly hear the urgency in his voice and fully dressed now she followed him downstairs at the run.